On Fingers Broken Long Ago
by liftedlorax
Summary: After a ten year absence, Harry returns to his old life in England to find Draco Malfoy at the center of it. A tale of rekindling old flames, unlikely inter-House alliances, angry Hufflepuffs, and medical mysteries ensues. H/D, EWE, COMPLETE.
1. Part One

**Title**: On Fingers Broken Long Ago  
**Author**: oflights  
**Characters/Pairings**: Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.  
**Rating**: R  
**Warning(s)**: disregards epilogue, adult language  
**Word Count**: ~8200  
**Disclaimer**: I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Summary**: After a ten year absence, Harry returns to his old life in England to find Draco Malfoy at the center of it. A tale of rekindling old flames, unlikely inter-House alliances, angry Hufflepuffs, and medical mysteries ensues.

**Notes: **Meep, new fandom! Very scary! This is a monster of a story that has taken over my summer; expect regular updates since it's about 90% written already. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it, and please let me know what you think.

**Part One**

"May I ask you a question, Mr. Potter?"

Harry frowns a tiny bit, shifting in his chair under the woman's intense, slightly bemused gaze. It seems to him that she has done nothing but ask him questions so far, not that he minds; this is an interview, of sorts, even though it hadn't started out as one. He had wandered into St. Mungo's earlier that morning meaning only to casually ask the Welcome Witch about volunteer positions, Hermione's latest lecture still ringing in his ears.

He hadn't been prepared to be dragged off by the squealing witch, thrust into a small office in a hallway perpendicular to the front lobby, and subsequently introduced to Lenore Coalfleet, Head of Human Resources and Director of Volunteer Services. It was all a bit rude, actually, and he'd been silly, really, to expect anything different. Another Hermione lecture echoes in his head as he lets himself consider his own stupidity for a moment; Harry Potter cannot do much in public Wizarding England anymore without it turning into a Big Deal, even after a ten year absence.

As Harry resigns himself to the interview and not being able to get out of this politely anymore, Ms. Coalfleet takes his silence and slightly confused expression as acquiescence and lets out a deep, preparatory breath. And Harry knows what the question is going to be: Why are you back, Harry? Why did you leave? Why haven't you returned to the Ministry? He's coming up with polite ways of saying 'fuck off', and really he's gotten quite good at that since his return home, and so he almost misses the question.

"What made you consider St. Mungo's?"

He starts a bit, blinking at her, because it's a perfectly reasonable question: not nosy, or badgering, or accusatory, the way almost all of the other questions had always been asked. And then he has to scramble a bit, because he hasn't prepared an answer for _reasonable_, and because 'Hermione told me to' isn't going to cut it.

"Well," Harry stalls, 'well' being the 30-year-old substitute for 'er'. "I've always been, ah, interested in magical healing." He doesn't let on that the interest really only extends to far too many trips to the Hospital Wing back in the day, and not much else.

Ms. Coalfleet's arched eyebrow and slightly pursed lips suggest that she knows this, though, and so he shuts his mouth before he can dig his bluffing hole any deeper. She is a tall, powerful-looking woman with broad shoulders and flinty eyes, and he mentally sorts her into Slytherin before he can help himself. Hermione squawks yet another indignant lecture in his head about stereotyping, and he decides right then and there that he _must _find his own place, ASAP, because borrowing her guest room has done unfair things to his conscience.

"Really," she says primly, one word managing to convey amazing depths of skepticism and derision. Harry winces a bit, but manages a firm nod anyway, and it's not like he even _wants _to do this, anyway, he's only been home for three weeks now, he's not even bored yet, why is he here again?

"Your previous experiences do not really suggest this, Mr. Potter. Most of your work has been in law enforcement, with a reputable but rather tumultuous history of apprehending criminals. I'm not sure that you'll find St. Mungo's a good fit for you."

His hackles rise for a split second before he realizes that there is still no accusation in her voice; she is not saying 'get thee back to the Aurors, sir', nor is she asking him why he left. She's systematically destroying his defensive inner 14-year-old with reason and logic, and he wonders if Hermione had called ahead and coached her.

"Well," he says again, letting a small, presumably charming smile tilt his lips. Her expression doesn't even flicker, and he's mildly impressed; older women have done a lot more in the face of that same smile. He thinks for a moment, and tries for hopeful. "I've been thinking lately that it's time for a change."

There, that's a fair, age appropriate interpretation of a 'midlife crisis'. When he explained his midlife crisis woes to Molly Weasley, she had laughed at him and told him that 30 was much too young for a midlife crisis. "You're just a bit lost, dear, but you're nowhere near the middle yet," she had told him wisely, and he'd repeated this to Hermione when she had growled at him to get his arse off her couch and find something productive to do with his life. Again.

Ms. Coalfleet does not look impressed, however; she simply lets out another deep breath and he mentally concedes defeat without feeling too disheartened by it. Really, there is nothing wrong with Hermione's couch, even though Crookshanks is shedding and it smells like homework all the time.

The woman surprises him by standing up abruptly; it takes him a minute to shoot to his feet and he fumbles for a bit, wondering if he's meant to have a rejection handshake here. But she surprises him once again by smiling a little at him, slightly begrudging but still firm. "We are a different brand of hero here, Mr. Potter." She pauses, and then she seems to try and force the smile into something sweeter; it looks faintly painful. "Perhaps you will learn something from us."

It takes a second for him to realize what that means—okay, well then, he's got a job, well not a paying job, but somewhere to go when he's bored, at least, and maybe this will finally get Hermione off his back—and he can't help but grin a little and say, "Perhaps." Her mouth tightens, and he is flooded with the memories of the worst of Professor McGonagall's disapproval, the loathsome depths of Snape's condescension.

"Well," she says, totally stealing his line, picking up her wand from her desk and waving it at the door. It clicks open and the sounds of the front lobby flood the space again, reminding him that he is not at Hogwarts anymore. Acting like a prat who doesn't give a shit here isn't going to get points taken away, it's just going to make everyone think he's a prat who doesn't give a shit. Since the Wizarding world already thinks he's an ungrateful brat, a damaged and tragic war hero, a spy sent from a vampire cult, and a shamed, burnt out Auror that couldn't cut it anymore, he doesn't really want to add anything else to the pile.

"Walk with me, Mr. Potter," Ms. Coalfleet commands. "I know just where to put you." And as she smirks smoothly, he congratulates himself mentally on a job well done in Sorting her; no one but a Slytherin could ever pull off that smirk quite so evilly.

They make their way back out towards the lobby, passing the Welcome Witch again. She squeals when Harry shoots her a quick smile and waves excitedly at him, nearly knocking the glasses from the nose of the old man asking her a question. Ms. Coalfleet leads him briskly towards the emergency area, past a huge sign that says Triage and a long, winding line full of complaining witches and wizards. Bypassing all of the Healers scurrying about in lime green, she points her wand at one of the two lifts and gives it a firm swish.

"Volunteers initially commit to 200 hours of service," she tells him matter-of-factly. It sounds like a very long time but he knows logically that it isn't all that much; he curses Hermione mentally anyway. The lift chimes and opens, several lime green blurs whipping out and making his head spin a bit. Ms. Coalfleet smirks some more. "Since you've expressed such an interest in our hospital, however, I'm sure you'll choose to extend your hours further."

She steps into the lift and ushers Harry in, waving her wand swiftly so that the doors close on yet another harried, lime green blur. "Maybe," he says as cheerfully as he can muster.

"I don't normally assign my volunteers to this floor," Ms. Coalfleet continues, ignoring him. Harry looks at the glowing listing of floors and departments, trying desperately to remember which one Ginny works on, and failing completely. He realizes that this is why it's such a bad idea to skim letters as opposed to reading them. "But I imagine that someone with your fortitude and your, ah, enthusiasm, may find the atmosphere suitable. They are understaffed and overworked, and they can use the help. Do you like children, Mr. Potter?"

Before he can answer in the affirmative, the lift chimes and a luminous 2 lights up in front of him, the words _Magical Bugs and Diseases _flashing next to it. He _thinks _it sounds familiar and crosses his fingers, but as they leave the lift and head through a short hallway, he doesn't see Ginny and deflates.

The floor itself is quiet, and he remembers her mentioning that they are understaffed. Two Healers are speaking quietly to each other as they walk towards the lift; Harry notices that they aren't wearing lime green robes but robes that are a pale, powder blue, a much more pleasing color. Each Healer has a small, odd-looking fuzzy thing floating by their ear. They are round and look a bit like tiny birds, though instead of feathers they have puffy fur, and have no discernible beaks. He frowns at them, wondering if they are some kind of hospital vermin or something, but Ms. Coalfleet is speaking again, and so he doesn't ask.

"There are three wards: one for elderly patients, one for adults, and one for children. The children's ward is one of the busiest in the hospital, so I imagine that's where you'll be spending most of your time. The Healer-in-Charge runs all of the wards collectively; he's also the youngest Healer-in-Charge in St. Mungo's history. I believe he's about your age, Mr. Potter."

Harry musters up an interested look at that, but really he's still searching Ginny out. He scans the surrounding area as she leads him to a nearly empty nurse's station. The only occupant is a blond man in lime green robes who is sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on a desk, reading a magazine in his lap. As he idly turns a page and flicks his hair out of his face, Harry recognizes him and feels his stomach drop a bit.

"Mr. Potter, this is Mediwizard Zacharias Smith," Ms. Coalfleet tells him, and Zacharias quickly looks up and squints at them. His eyes widen but he doesn't move from his position, simply looks them up and down slowly before turning back to his magazine.

"We knew each other at Hogwarts," Zacharias says dismissively, and he sounds as if he's trying to act bored. Harry rolls his eyes.

"Nice to see you again," he tries, and Smith grins but doesn't look up.

"Mediwizard Smith is one of only two Mediwizards that work on this floor," Ms. Coalfleet continues. "As I mentioned, this department is rather understaffed at the moment. Therefore, we highly appreciate his work with us, even if he can be a bit difficult to work with."

Zacharias snorts, and looks up again, still grinning. "_I'm _difficult to work with?" He nods towards Harry. "So does the boss know he's here?"

Ms. Coalfleet's mouth tightens again, and she ignores the question. "Where is Nurse Weasley?"

Harry feels a jolt of happiness shoot through him for the first time that day since he had woken up and discovered that Hermione had refilled his stash of his favorite cereal. "Ginny?"

But they both ignore him; Zacharias' grin stretches to clown proportions and he suddenly looks gleeful. "Oh, Merlin, he _doesn't _know, does he? This is brilliant. Welcome to Bugs, Harry, you have made this a _marvelous _day for me."

"Zacharias, please. Do try to act like a professional, for once in your life." Ms. Coalfleet sounds both amused and exasperated, and while she looks at Zacharias as though he's a particularly loathsome insect, she seems perfectly calm about his disrespectfulness. Almost resigned to it, and Harry wonders just how badly they need him on this floor; a prat like Zach wouldn't last ten minutes working for him.

"Who needs professionalism when there's a bloodbath to look forward to in a little while? Right here, at Station One—oh, I can't believe I didn't bring my camera! Why didn't you _tell _me, Lenore?"

"Bloodbath?" Harry repeats, looking between the two of them in confusion.

"I'm going to ask you again," Ms. Coalfleet tries, firm and calm. "Where is Nurse Weas—"

"HARRY!"

Before Harry can place the shout, a short, redheaded blur has thrown itself into his arms, knocking his glasses askew. He laughs when he recognizes the feel of Ginny's body fitting against his, and he wraps his arms around her and squeezes tightly.

"Hey there, Gin."

"Oh, perfect," Zacharias continues, looking even more gleeful. "Keep hugging her, it's perfect, he's going to be _even madder_."

"Look, what are you on about?" Harry snaps, losing his patience as Ginny steps back from him. He stops paying attention to Smith, though, when Ginny beams at him, and he is hit with a rush of warmth so big and good he can't believe he's gone so long without it.

"I'm so glad you're here, Harry! Hermione told me she was gonna suggest this to you, and I thought it'd be a great way for you to get back out there again, you know, think about your options and such." Her face is bright and open, if a little tired, and she looks wonderful in soft pink robes and a sensible ponytail. She looks content, and even though he's known from what he's read (er…skimmed) from her letters that she's happy, it's much better to see it in reality. Harry smiles at her, knows it looks a little ridiculous, but doesn't care. Even when Smith laughs at him some more.

"Oh, Ginny, please, where is he? He has _got _to see this!"

Ginny's face changes, her eyes quickly narrowing, and she turns from Harry to glare at Smith. "Stuff it, Smith, honestly, it's too early for your crap. And you'd better transfigure those robes if don't want Draco to tear you a new one again."

Zacharias says something nasty back, and they start going back and forth, but Harry's brain seems to have frozen at the word 'Draco' and he can't seem to make it start up again. He says, "Malfoy?" faintly but nobody hears him except for Coalfleet, who has that evil Slytherin smirk again.

She opens her mouth to say something, but then she doesn't need to, because a drawling voice he'll never be unable to place is carrying over from around the corner that Ginny had come from.

"Smith, get those feet _off _Weasley's desk, this is _not _your sitting room. And transfigure those robes the proper color before I strip them from you and expose the floor to your no doubt garish underthings. And—" And then Malfoy freezes the way Harry has, his mouth still open but unable to spit out anymore orders. He stands stock still, clutching a few rolls of parchment in one hand and clenching the other in a fist at his side, posture stiff and shocked and body locked in a way that doesn't make it any less appealing.

As a slow burn suddenly starts making its way through Harry's insides, his mind starts to melt a bit, and the first thought he can discern is _fuck, he looks good_. He's in the same powder blue as the other two Healers he had seen, though he has a large silver badge on the right breast of his robe that he hadn't seen before. He has a fuzzy bird thing hovering by his ear, too, and if he could tear his eyes away for a minute, he would notice that Ginny and Zacharias also have them and he would wonder. But he can't take his eyes away yet, because it's _Draco Malfoy_, just standing right there, looking impeccably blond and poised and fit, and after ten years of not feeling his heart jump like this, it's impossible to just get over feeling it again.

And then his face is on fire the same way his stomach is and maybe his lungs are burning, too, and it's slightly difficult to breathe and he thinks he may actually murder Hermione.

"Well," Harry says helplessly, and Malfoy swallows and says nothing. The three others standing by them are staring as well, and Zacharias' sudden cackle is what brings Harry swiftly back to Earth.

"Best. Day. Ever."

"Shut _up_, Zach," Ginny snaps, and then she's smiling timidly and stepping in between Harry and Malfoy. "Draco, isn't it wonderful? Harry's going to be volunteering with us!'

"Volunteering—?" Malfoy's face suddenly twists into an exaggerated grimace of betrayal, and he's shooting a wounded look to Coalfleet, who now looks unabashedly amused. "Lenore, _no_!"

The woman shrugs negligently, folding her arms over her chest. Harry adds her to the murder list. "Draco, please. You were just in my office yesterday, bemoaning the 'atrocious amount of neglect and abuse that your department puts up with' from the hospital. I fail to see how you have any reason to protest this."

"But—" Malfoy starts, and Harry knows from entirely too much experience that he's about to launch into fully-fledged whine session. Then he shocks Harry by pulling up short and sighing heavily, contorting his face into a mask of grim acceptance, and he looks reluctantly back at Harry, who feels his own face heat up yet again.

"Welcome to Magical Bugs and Diseases, Potter," he spits out, and Harry is so dumbfounded he can only nod. Malfoy sighs again, shakes his head, and then looks at Zacharias.

"Get up. Transfigure your robes, get into the Derwent Ward, and do a complete stat check. _Now._"

Zacharias frowns but finally sits upright, glaring at Malfoy. "It's barely half ten, Vanessa probably made the rounds twenty minutes ago—"

"Do it or it's your job, Smith, now _go_. And for Merlin's sake—" And in a second, Malfoy's wand is out and pointing at Smith. A half a second and Smith is wearing the same blue as Malfoy, scowling down at his robes and then throwing himself out of his chair.

"Fine. Bloody fascist wanker, I hope Potter _pummels _you—"

"I didn't ask for running commentary, just do your sodding job, please."

"It's not _my _job to do stats, I'm not a bloody nurse!"

"Ginny," Malfoy drawls, ignoring the rest of Smith's angry muttering as he stalks away. "Kindly show Potter around the floor. I'm suddenly in desperate need of a cup of coffee and a noose, _alone_ in my office. Disturb me only if necessary; I'll be back for rounds by noon, so warn the Trainees. And for Merlin's sake, only let Smith near my office if you want him to return lacking vital organs."

Ginny grins; it looks lovely and evil, and Harry looks between the two of them quickly and suspiciously. "Ah, so I'll be sending him right along, then."

Malfoy manages a weak smile and then fixes it on Coalfleet. "Lenore, just—"

"You may thank me, Draco, I know you are positively bubbling over with gratitude."

"I—I can't even—" With yet another loud sigh, he throws his hands up, inclines his head towards the two women, and then stalks off after Smith in a whirl of blue.

"Well," Harry says again, his tongue finally deciding to work. Ginny lets out a few small giggles, covering her mouth with her hand and looking at Harry apologetically. "What?" he pouts, frowning at her; she giggles some more and shares a conspiratorial look with Coalfleet.

"Nothing, it's just—two minutes in your presence and he's already regressed to an eleven-year-old. I'm surprised he didn't stamp his foot."

"Healer Malfoy is in charge of this floor, Mr. Potter," Coalfleet adds, and Harry loses all illusions of politeness and glares at her. Whether he wants it or not, he's in this now.

"Yeah, I got that, thanks."

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ginny says brightly. "He's really all bark and no—well, okay, he's a little bite. Er—maybe more than a little bite. But still. It's been a very long time, and you'll see he's actually quite fun to work with. And hang out with, as well, which you would know if you actually _came out _with us all one of these days. And you sort of got on when you did your NEWTs at Hogwarts, didn't you?"

It takes him a minute to realize that she doesn't know, and it makes sense, really. She had never yelled at him about it in a letter, and neither Hermione nor Ron or anybody he'd kept in vague touch with had ever mentioned it. And they would have—Harry Potter spending 18 months having a whole bunch of angry sex with Draco Malfoy is sort of something you bring up during tea.

Considering that now they're all some sort of happy, inter-House unity club who meet for dinner and go pub hopping together on the weekends, it's odd to Harry that Malfoy had never said anything. Then he thinks that maybe Malfoy's just ashamed of it, the way Harry had once been, and he gives a Hermione lecture to his stupid heart for being hurt at the thought.

It's good that no one knows, Harry rationalizes. Less complicated, fewer questions, especially since they're all friends. Pansy Parkinson would probably order a Hit Wizard after him, and it wouldn't do to be dodging assassins sent by Ron's fiancé.

It shouldn't be difficult, Harry decides. It will be made easier by the fact that no one knows. And who cares, really, that he knows that Malfoy's a biter, or that he has a crescent moon-shaped birthmark on the back of his right knee, or that he never, ever shuts up during sex unless he loses control completely, and even then he has to give his two more Sickles worth in the aftermath? None of these things will make it difficult to work with him. Harry has wonderful self-control. He's past that phase of his life, anyway—the Malfoy phase, not the gay phase.

It's over. It's simple.

Powder blue isn't even Malfoy's color, Harry concludes, and he gives Ginny and Coalfleet each their own broad, firm grin.

"We got on fine. This will be wonderful." They both look at him as if he's nutters, and as Zacharias Smith suddenly comes racing around the corner again, sporting rabbit ears and muttering to himself about foul, tyrannical ferrets, he thinks that Coalfleet was totally wrong about him not fitting in here.

Harry thinks he's going to fit in great.

* * *

Of course, it's easy enough that first day, because Harry barely even sees Malfoy.

Despite the fact that Ginny insists that Malfoy works harder than anybody else here, he's like a ghost on the floor that first day, retreating into his office every chance he gets. Ginny shows him the offices of the senior Healers and then Malfoy's, and Harry can't help but feel a small swell of pride when he reads the shiny plaque on the door: _Draco Malfoy, Healer-in-Charge, Magical Bugs and Diseases_. The last time he had seen Malfoy, he had just started Healing school and was having a tough go of it. There was a lot of residual distrust and hate for the Malfoy name after the war, despite the family's exoneration, and Harry is glad to see that Draco has worked his way above it.

Zacharias, trailing them for no for other reason than that he just does not want to do his job, intones, "He wanted to put 'Master and Commander of the Universe', too, but it wouldn't fit."

Harry decides he really doesn't like Zacharias Smith, like, he actively dislikes him, almost in pre-NEWT year Malfoy amounts. He thinks for a minute about what _that_ dislike turned into and decides that Zacharias Smith is not really worth the energy to dislike, not the way Malfoy was. So he ignores him.

Ginny seems to think the same thing, and obviously has more experience with it, because she just scoffs at him and tells him to bugger off. When Zacharias continues to make scathing remarks about the Healers Ginny points out to Harry, she turns to him and threatens to add a bunny tail to the ears that haven't gone away yet.

"You'll be a huge hit with the kids in Derwent," Ginny promises, and Smith pouts and finally leaves them alone.

As Ginny introduces him to various nurses and Healers, Harry promptly forgets each and every name and instead broods about Malfoy. He had known, by way of Hermione and later Ron, that Malfoy had made it as a Healer, but he had never been able to figure out a way to subtly ask about it. Now he's trying to figure out how to get Ginny talking more about it without being obvious. At the same time he's wondering how he's supposed to make everyone realize that he is fine, just fine with this arrangement when Malfoy isn't even around to be fine with.

"So he just stays in there _all day_?" Harry asks, and Ginny stops her rather boring speech about the Dilys Derwent Ward's archiving system and frowns at him.

"Of course he doesn't. Honestly, Harry, if you're picking on Draco already…"

"I'm not! He's not even here to pick on!"

"Don't worry," Ginny soothes, suddenly raising her voice. "He'll be out here terrifying the Trainees during rounds soon enough."

A little ways down the hall, a fresh-faced Trainee Healer squeaks and hops off the counter of Station One, where Zacharias has reclaimed his magazine and is chuckling to himself. The Trainee looks around quickly, as if Malfoy is going to swoop in from around any corner at any time, and as soon as he relaxes, Zacharias barks out in what is admittedly a perfect Malfoy drawl: "Sparrow! Fix those robes and check on 213-A!"

The Trainee bolts, red-faced and wide-eyed, and Zacharias gives Harry and Ginny a smug little bow in his seat and turns back to his magazine. Harry just snorts, but to his surprise Ginny is grinning widely. "Sparrow isn't made of tough enough stuff for this floor," she says solemnly, shaking her head and ruining the effect by continuing to grin. "He'll be up in the Thickey Ward before Zach and Draco are through with him." She suddenly sniffs, and it's such a Malfoy move that he feels his heart skip a little beat. "This floor has too many _Hufflepuffs_."

Zach blows her a kiss without looking up, and Ginny huffs and tugs Harry away.

They pass idly by patient rooms, heading through each ward swiftly. Blue-robed Healers pass in and out and Harry starts recognizing them slowly as having already been introduced to him, though the only Healer he can name is Michael Corner, and only because of Hogwarts.

"Not a lot of staff, huh?" he asks, and Ginny sighs sadly and shakes her head.

"It's one of the things Draco fights with the board for all the time—but no one wants on this floor. Healers tend to be stupid glory hounds who go for the high profile departments, like Spell Damage and Creatures. Apparently helping sick kids and administering Forget-Me-Nots to old folks isn't _exciting _enough." She frowns, mouth set and grim, and then seems to forcibly brighten. "No matter, though. We're small, and we work okay like that."

She gestures at the third nurse's station, which is decidedly more busy than the one Zacharias has claimed. "The wards are all pretty fluid—some Healers, like Tabitha and Michael, technically specialize in one ward over the other, but they see patients throughout all three. The nurses are the same, and I'm the Charge Nurse, so I'm the boss of all of them." She gives him another smug Malfoy look and he smiles brightly at her.

"That's brilliant, Ginny! I'm proud of you!"

"Well, yes, I've only mentioned that in about half a dozen letters, but I'm glad it's finally made it through." He screws up his best sheepish, _I'm adorable you can't be mad_ expression and it, predictably, does nothing. She glares imperiously at him and Harry pouts some more. "I'm also the boss of _you_, and I'm going to take a certain pleasure in putting you to work on my floor." She folds her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes at him. "Maybe I'm not quite over you tossing me aside to run away to North America."

Ginny's quiet just long enough to make Harry nervous, and he shuffles his feet about and starts, "Gin…" before he realizes she's fighting a grin. She punches him on the arm and cackles, something he decides is definitely an evil Magical Bugs and Diseases thing, then tugs him along again.

"Merlin, Harry, did you leave your sense of humor in Toronto? You'll not last long on this floor without it, you'll wind up upstairs with Sparrow."

"I've missed you, Ginny," Harry sighs besottedly, and Ginny flashes him a brilliant smile that reminds exactly why he loves her so much.

"Of course you have."

As she leads him down yet another hallway, another Healer races by them, swearing and prodding at the fuzzy bird thing by his ear. "Rounds!" he hisses frantically at Ginny, and he disappears around the corner without a look back. Ginny cackles again.

"My favorite bit of the morning. Too bad I have to teach you the archives."

"The what?" Harry snaps distractedly, lost in the image of Malfoy stalking around the ward some more and making Trainees wet themselves. He really would like to see rounds.

"The archives, of course. The best place to put an able-bodied volunteer like yourself." She stops them in front of a door and gestures at the placard that reads _Bugs: Archives _and then swings the door open.

He's not prepared to see what must be millions upon millions of piles of parchment scrolls, nor is he prepared for a few to tumble out and pile at his feet. Ginny seems totally unsurprised but he staggers back from the sheer vastness of it, wall to wall and floor to ceiling of the room just buried in parchment. He's wondering if he's meant to actually enter the room as Ginny starts explaining.

"Awful, isn't it? Draco can't even look at this room, it makes him absolutely insane. If he could burn it all, he would, and I'd help. But this is a century's worth of patient records, plus the current admits, and no one ever has the time or the patience to sort through it all. We Accio any records we need to the nurses' stations, and Draco's pretty good at getting the Wrackspurts to find what he needs in here—"

"Wrackspurts?"

Ginny glares at him. "You are a terror to work with, aren't you? How on Earth did Ron ever do it? Never mind, he's just as bad. _Yes_. Wrackspurts, I explained them before." She points to the fuzzy bird thing near her ear; as if aware that it's being talked about, the thing buzzes softly and seems to purr. Harry waves at it tentatively. "This is how the staff on this floor communicates; they use them in Spell Damage, too. Draco and Luna charmed them so that everybody could see them, and we use them instead of auditory Charms and alarms."

"Draco and _Luna_?"

She lets out a frustrated little scream. "Yes. You know, since you're back in England, you really should try and be less ignorant about the people you claim are still your friends. Luna works in Spell Damage; she's a Mind Healer." Harry nods, remembering a letter or two explaining that at some point. "She and Draco dated."

"_What_?"

"You really did become illiterate in Canada, didn't you? I _wrote _you—"

"I certainly would've remembered _that_, Ginny, come on now—"

"Well maybe it was in one of the letters you _threw out _without reading!"

"What? How could you know—"

"You just told me now, didn't you?"

He's opening his mouth to shoot a defensive retort back when he realizes what he's doing: he's standing in the middle of a hospital ward, in front of the place where parchment goes to die, having an escalating shouting match with his ex-girlfriend over practically nothing. Well, not nothing—he can tell that while this argument may be about Draco and Luna for him, it certainly isn't for her, and he frowns and leans towards her, touching her elbow gently. She grits her teeth together and looks away.

"Ginny. You're angry. You're still angry at me for leaving."

"It's not what you think," Ginny answers tightly, still refusing to look at him. "I'm not—obviously, I'm over you. It's not that. It's just—you just left. You barely even said goodbye. And that would've been fine, even, but then it was like you forgot about us all, everyone except for precious Ron and Hermione, like the rest of us didn't even matter. Like we were rubbish. I understood that you weren't in love with me that way—I don't think I was anymore, either. But we were friends before we were anything else, and you at least owed me some sodding letters, didn't you?"

Harry can't answer right away because he knows she's right. He can't explain this away, either, couldn't do it for Ron or Hermione or anyone who's talked about it. It's not something that's simple or easy to talk about—he wants very badly to have a simple answer, a simple _reason _for acting like a total jerk to them, but he doesn't. And he can't explain now about Canada, about finding purpose and cutting ties and then coming home desperate for a home again. He doesn't have words for any of that.

"I know," he offers gently, slightly desperate. "I know, of course, I just—it's complicated, Ginny. I'm sorry. I'd explain it better if I could."

She finally looks at him, eyes brimming with hurt and anger and a bit of pity, too. He remembers how she was his last ditch attempt at normal, and yet how it was all tainted by his annoyingly insistent thing for Draco. What would have happened, he wonders, if he had never let that first fistfight in NEWT year turn into a kiss? Would he and Ginny be married now? Have kids? He had loved her, once, and the right way, the passionate way, and he doesn't know if he would have kept loving her that way if he hadn't tasted any other kind of desire.

He's loved a few others since, and of course desired others since, and now he can't get Malfoy out of his head again, and he doesn't quite know what that means. But he does know that he regrets hurting Ginny, in any of the various ways he has, and he decides that part of coming back will be fixing that.

"I'm sorry," Harry says again, firmly and sincerely. Ginny bites her lip and nods slowly, still peering at him closely. But after another moment she lets a small smile light up her freckled face, and she punches him lightly on the arm, and he knows then that it's okay for now.

"Right. Good. Prove it, then." She draws her wand and floats the pile of scrolls at his feet and dumps them into his arms. "Start filing. Go through them all and sort by year, then affliction, then name. I'd cast a Dust-Repelling Charm, too; Draco won't have you sneezing on his floor." She grins mischievously at him, and Harry realizes this is the fully mature, grown-up version of her Bat-Bogey Hex revenge. "Have fun, and I'll come get you when it's time for lunch."

Harry tries for another _I'm adorable _look; she laughs at him and turns away.

"Welcome back, Harry," Ginny tells him delightedly, and then she rounds a corner and he's left to dive in on his own.

* * *

For the 15 minutes or so he had spared to actually imagine what it would be like to volunteer at St. Mungo's, Harry hadn't imagined battling extremely aggressive dust bunnies and squinting at enough turn-of-the-century writing to kill his eyes even more completely.

He'd imagined, well…okay, so he hadn't really imagined _what _it would be like. He'd had no intention at all of volunteering at St. Mungo's, really. But even if he had imagined it, he wouldn't have imagined this. And he would've shot Hermione with a Silencing spell before she could finish suggesting it to him.

When Ginny retrieves him for lunch, he is covered in dust (he had always been totally rubbish at household spells, Dust Repelling included, and he's never regretted it so much as he regrets it now) and knows entirely too much about the magical stomach-rotting sickness of the early 1900's. Ginny laughs unabashedly at him, and he glares at her, a glare which multiplies when Zacharias Smith sticks his stupid, unwanted head in over her shoulder.

"Ah, the Chosen One returns," he remarks, grinning widely. His rabbit ears are gone, and his robes are lime green again, something Harry hopes Malfoy will destroy him for, for whatever reason. "Is it good to be back, Potter?"

"Sod off," Harry grumbles, stepping into the small path free of scrolls he had carved for himself and getting out of the tiny, overcrowded room. He looks to Ginny hopefully. "Lunch time, then?"

"Yup," she says, and then addresses the Wrackspurt buzzing around her head. "Retrieve Cassius Crumb's patient file, please."

Harry watches as the tiny creature shoots into the room over his shoulder, blurring into nothing more than a brownish shape as it zooms from pile to pile. It hovers over the pile that Harry had been working on, seeming to peer at it curiously, before it knocks it over and then zooms out towards another. Harry lets out a small, dismayed sound of frustration that has Ginny and Zacharias chuckling again, but then the creature is diving into another, closer pile and then zooming back towards them. Harry ducks to avoid getting smacked in the face by a scroll that drops into Ginny's outstretched palm.

"Thanks, Crunkle," she says to the Wrackspurt, and it purrs contentedly at her and takes its place by her ear again. She hands the scroll to Smith and makes a shooing gesture at him. "There, now get out of here before Draco notices you sneaking off. I'll not cover for you again."

"Love you too, Gin," he smarms at her, and with a last wink to Harry he Disapparates with a loud crack, making Ginny scowl.

"Showoff," she gripes, starting down the hallway with Harry at her side. Upon his questioning glance, she explains, "Oh, he's the only one allowed to Apparate on this floor. Well, he and the other Mediwitch, Brigid. But she's never around anyway." She waves her wand idly at him and casts a _scourgify _that banishes all the dust and makes him jump.

"Why?"

"One of Draco's new rules. He said it was too chaotic with everyone Apparating in and out all the time, constantly popping in on patients with no respect for their privacy. He was right, basically. Mediwizards are only allowed because they're always called on in emergencies."

"Bet Malfoy came up with lots of new rules."

Ginny shrugs, unconcerned with the derision in his voice. "Yeah, but he made things better. I was wearing magenta before he changed the robe colors, ugh. And of course all that lime green was giving us all headaches. Plus the Wrackspurts sure as hell beat _sonorus_. Don't you, little guy?" She smiles sweetly at her Wrackspurt and cuddles him into a hand.

Harry makes a small noise of confusion when they bypass the lifts to head into another hallway, but then they're standing outside of Malfoy's office again and he changes the noise to one of protest. "Er, Ginny…"

"Quiet. Stop being ridiculous; you are a grown man and he is good friends with all of your friends. If you _really _came back because you missed all of us, then you'll have to learn to get along with him. He's part of the package."

He shuts up and lets her knock, ignoring the small part of his head that's crowing triumphantly at the idea of getting to bait and/or flirt with Malfoy. A drawled, "Enter," has Ginny rolling her eyes and shoving the door open, and Harry gets his first view of Malfoy's office.

It's considerably large, larger than Harry's office had been at the Toronto DMLE, though he supposes it's because he never ranked as high. It's painted in a dove gray that reminds him of Malfoy's eyes, a comparison that makes his in-denial inner cynic admonish him, and is all light wood and bright natural light from the big window. Pale blue curtains and a white leather couch make it even more inviting, and it is nothing like the imposing, stately space Harry had imagined. He wonders how Malfoy manages to terrify anybody with an office like this.

Ginny claps her hands loudly to force Malfoy to look up from the paperwork on his desk, and he sneers at her as soon as he spots Harry. "What?" he snaps rudely, and Harry gets annoyed immediately.

"Lunch. Now. Tabby's out there watching the floor, Brigid's around here somewhere—"

"Zach?"

"With a patient."

"Liar. I know they asked for him in Emergency, Ginny, you shouldn't cover for him." He looks back down at his paperwork, nose twitching in annoyance. Harry notices that he has made a point of not looking at him again; somehow, this is both amusing and irritating.

"I didn't lie, he _is_ with a patient. Downstairs in Emergency." Ginny leans forward over Malfoy's desk, blocking his light completely and placing two hands over whatever he's writing on. "Come on, it's chicken salad day upstairs. You know you're excited."

"Sod off. I'm not hungry."

"I will not, Draco Malfoy. And I'm not exactly giving you a choice here." She grins and jerks her head at Harry. "I'll get my ex-Auror friend over here to use force if necessary."

Harry _tries _to stamp down the immediate flood of images of himself being forceful with Malfoy, he really does. Very nearly succeeds, too. By the way Malfoy seems to pink up a bit, Harry deduces that he's just about as successful.

Malfoy looks up again, flicks his eyes over to Harry, scowls, and then stands up. Harry's stomach twists with both anxiety and excitement, and he meets Malfoy's scowl with a fierce look of determination. The other man seems to consider him for a moment, before he looks at Ginny with a cool mask of indifference. "I'm having lunch in Spell Damage."

Ginny blanches and reels back, suddenly matching Malfoy's scowl. "You are _not_, you just pulled that out of your arse."

"I am too." He makes a face, and Harry smirks as he recognizes Malfoy's look of self-chastisement. "You can ask Luna."

"Luna can join us." The thought of _that _makes Harry a bit ill, actually, because he's not sure how he'll be able to handle seeing Luna and Draco interact, knowing that they've dated. But he doesn't have to worry about it because Malfoy's shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest.

"She's busy. It'll be a working lunch in her office." When Ginny continues to look angry, he adds forcibly, "A _private _lunch. For _Healers_."

Ginny's wand moves so fast that Harry doesn't realize that she's hexed Malfoy until he yelps out a wounded, "OW! _Ginny_!" and rubs at his shoulder, where she must have sent a quick Stinging Hex. She just glares defiantly at him before turning on her heel and stalking towards Harry.

"That'll be a hex a day until you start acting your age again," she spits darkly over her shoulder. "Come on, _Harry_, let's go have a _private _lunch, for _non-Healers_." Harry smirks again quickly at Malfoy before following her out.

"Honestly," she fumes, reminding Harry of a younger, self-righteous Molly Weasley. "_Private lunch for Healers_. What an arsehole, I don't know why I even bother."

"I don't know, either."

"And _you_!"

"Me? What did I do?"

"You could've helped, instead of skulking about and making faces at him! You're just as bad as he is, you just hide it better."

Harry sulks, then, listening as Ginny continues ranting and they make their way into the lift and up to the top floor of the hospital.

They buy lunch in the staff café, right off the visitor's tea room and gift shop, and take their chicken salad sandwiches out onto the roof, where they sit on benches under umbrellas and Harry prods Ginny for more information on the Luna and Draco situation.

"So do they eat together often, then?"

"I suppose," Ginny grumbles, as if admitting something awful. "I don't like it, though. I mean, she's one of my best friends, but I don't think she's good for him. It worries me when they act all cozy again."

The bite of sandwich in his mouth tastes sour at the thought of Malfoy and Luna being cozy together, and he does some more internal Hermione-lecturing. "Well, how long did they date?"

"Three years."

Harry chokes; three years is quite a long time, much longer than he's ever managed with anyone. In fact, Draco is still his longest relationship, even though he hardly calls it that. "That's—wow. I can't see that at all."

"It doesn't make sense anymore, but at the time, well, it did. I'm sure you know about the big Lovegood-Malfoy merger, yes?" She scoffs at Harry's blank, curious blinks. "Of course not. Well, Luna's father was in a bit of trouble with the Quibbler a few years after the war, and I guess as an apology of sorts, or more likely, to stretch out the redeemed Malfoy image, Lucius bought the paper and kept Xenophilius as a partner. They're the best of friends, now, and the Quibbler has been crushing the Prophet in terms of readership for a few years now. I think the start of Luna and Draco had a lot to do with that, though I don't think it stayed that way." Her expression turns wistful and a bit sad. "They were good together, for a while, though you wouldn't think so."

"So what happened?"

She seems to get even sadder, staring down at her sandwich remorsefully. "Oh, you know. Sometimes, these things just don't work out." She peers at him and gestures between the two of them. "Obviously."

"Better as friends?" Harry suggests, fully aware that he's not going to get the whole story out of her, as much as he wants it. Ginny nods and brightens.

"Sort of. But let's talk about something else now. Tell me about Toronto. Do they really all live in igloos? Zach said that but I'm sure it can't be true."

They pass their lunch breaks with idle talk of Canada and Harry's quest to find himself. Ginny pries effortlessly and shamelessly into his love life, and Harry answers her questions with some reluctance, all the while wishing he could steer the conversation back to Malfoy. When she asks Harry if he had, indeed, 'found himself', he shrugs and grins sloppily and says, "Well, I'm right here, aren't I?"

She seems to consider that, matching his grin and nodding. "I'm glad."

He doesn't mention the whole 30-year-old equivalent of a midlife crisis thing. It doesn't seem like such a crisis right now, sitting on a sunny roof with a pretty girl and a good sandwich. Maybe just a bit of a fleeting panic.

After lunch, he reluctantly trudges back to the archives room, passing by Station One and seeing Ginny spot a huge bouquet of white roses sitting on her desk. Zacharias is sitting on the counter above the desk, scribbling idly on a patient chart that's floating in midair in front of him, and he beams at Ginny as she nears. "Obviously, they're from me," he tells her, and Ginny rolls her eyes but softens as she reads the note with them. The last Harry sees of her, she's heading towards Malfoy's office, and he figures she'll probably forgive him.

He wonders if they'll all be having lunch together tomorrow. Tries not to foolishly hope for it.


	2. Part Two

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language

**Word Count:** ~5700

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Thanks a bunch for your responses to the first part! I hope you guys like this part; it's a bit shorter but a bit more fun, I think. Thanks again to my beta, Tara, who is wonderful.

I'm happy to see that people are reading and I'd totally love to hear what you have to say about it. I'm still kinda nervous about writing in a brand new fandom, so anything you have to say—even if it's 'omg stop writing this, crazy person!'—is much appreciated.

**Part Two**

Hermione greets him at her flat with more enthusiasm than even when he'd first arrived back from Toronto. Harry guesses that she's glad to have him finally off of her couch.

"So how was it? Did you get assigned to Bugs? How was Ginny? Did you see Draco? Does this mean you'll come out with us?"

He doesn't bother answering any of these questions with anything more than a shrug and a short trip to her fridge. "Indian or Chinese tonight? I'm starved."

"Oh Harry, please, I'm trying to have a conversation with you!"

Harry inspects a brownish banana and casts around in his mind for a forgotten freshening charm. When he comes up with what could either be a liquefier or a freshener, he decides to take his chances with the bruised fruit and peels it by hand.

"It was fine. Yes. Ginny was great. I saw him. Probably not."

Letting out a low growl of annoyance, Hermione points her wand at the banana and turns it to yellow-brown sludge in his hand. He yelps and waves his sticky fist at her indignantly. She just scowls at him. "Ungrateful brat!"

"You've been reading the Prophet again, haven't you?"

"_Harry_!"

"I don't know why you're so anxious for me to go out with you guys," Harry whines reasonably, washing his hands off in the kitchen sink. "I mean, I haven't got anything against Slytherins anymore, I don't see why I have to proveit by being friends with them. Ron's doing enough cozying up for the both of us—"

"A-_ha_!" Hermione cries triumphantly, pointing at him. He turns wide eyes on her, half expecting her to dash off to the library. "I _knew _you had a problem with the impending Weasley-Parkinson union. It's about time you admitted it."

"What? No! I was talking about how they all work with him at the Ministry, honestly, Hermione. Stop finding double meanings in the things I say, I think you've been spending too much time with Slytherins lately."

"You're impossible."

"Says Draco Malfoy's new best friend."

They call a stalemate in the kitchen, retreating back to their own corners of the flat and only interacting with Crookshanks for the rest of the evening. Harry knows she means well, she always does, but she's also incredibly pushy. He's just not _ready _for all this inter-House bonding bullshit. He thinks he'd done pretty okay his second night back, at the dinner with Pansy and Ron. He'd managed to go a whole night without blurting out, "So remember that time you tried to sell me out to Voldemort? Yeah, fun times."

Of course, thinking that way about Pansy Parkinson just makes him a giant hypocrite for the entire 18 month interval he'd spent coupling with Malfoy, but whoever said dislike had to be rational?

It's just that the last time he tried this inter-House bonding bullshit, well, it had involved much less bonding and much more fucking. It had made him a giant hypocrite for 18 months. And while he's pretty sure he can stand a few nights out with Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Greg Goyle without jumping their bones, he's not entirely sure the same can be said for Malfoy.

Both unfortunately and fortunately for him, he doesn't get any chance to test out this theory, because the next few days at the hospital are as Malfoy-free as the first had been. Harry's hormones throw a tantrum; Harry's rational mind breathes a huge sigh of relief.

He rotates between archives duty, which he loathes, and helping out in the children's ward, also known as the Dilys Derwent Ward. Sometimes Ginny just shoves Wizarding picture books at him and throws him into the ward, too busy to instruct him, leaving him to figure out which kids are meant to be read to. He makes quick friends with children who have Pepper-Up steam coming out of their ears or look slightly green in the face, who are all equally enchanted by his awkward fumbling and total unfamiliarity with the books.

Sometimes, Zacharias Apparates in, something that Harry realizes now is not just annoying: it is a bad omen. Ginny has explained to him that Zacharias' specialty lies in keeping those on death's door alive; he is brilliant at revival spells and in trauma situations, which is why he is constantly sneaking off to deal with issues in the Emergency Department. The fact is, seeing Smith in the children's ward is not a good thing, and whenever he spots the blond prat, he reads extra loudly to the children gathered around him in the patients' lounge.

The lounge where he's stationed is large and painted in bright blues and greens, with moving paintings of various fish and other underwater sea creatures adorning the walls. Magical toys and books are scattered around the floor, which Ginny has attributed to many generous donations made by Lucius Malfoy. She rolls her eyes and huffs about it, but she seems grudgingly grateful for it as she presses more books into his hands and begs Harry to keep the kids occupied.

Harry only ever sees Malfoy in transit, and never alone; he catches a quick, amusing glimpse of rounds one morning en route to the archives room, and nearly pities the Trainees scrambling about, trying to appease their boss. Malfoy is ruthless and merciless and also completely brilliant, Harry can see now. He asks questions about patients that Harry doesn't understand, but he can see the way the questions open up the Trainees' faces, turning on lightbulbs and making things clearer even as they quake in fear. He prods them and heckles them and harasses them, but somehow his many insults make his rare compliments that much more encouraging.

He can also see that Malfoy is avoiding him. This is yet another issue that's both a relief and an annoyance. Malfoy always makes sure he's talking to someone else whenever he sees Harry, or he's busy checking over a patient. He never takes lunch with Ginny and Harry, though he's never quite as rude to her again as that first day. He escapes upstairs for consults on the Potions and Plant Poisoning floor, even as he turns around and tells Zacharias off for doing the same thing in Emergency. It pisses Ginny off to no end, and she rants about it constantly to Harry.

"I just don't get what the big deal is," she fumes, watching Harry fend off a particularly large dust bunny in the corner of the archive room. "You're both ridiculous, I can hardly stand it."

"Me?" Harry manages gruffly, wand slashing viciously as the bunny advances on him. His Stunner passes right through, and he can swear the thing is smirking at him. "I didn't do anythi—gah! Ginny, it bit me!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry, it's _dust_, use a Scouring charm. Now really, we have to fix this, I'm starting to _miss _the bastard."

Harry doesn't admit to feeling the same way, because he _doesn't_, that's ridiculous, he doesn't even like Malfoy much. Didn't like him much when he was fucking him, certainly doesn't like him when he's avoiding Harry like the plague.

But Ginny seems to be genuinely upset about the situation, and so he decides to make an effort for her sake and, well, try.

He calls up some not-so-deeply buried memories of his stalking Malfoy skills and follows him subtly one morning on his way to rounds in the adult ward, smiling as he hears Malfoy muttering to himself, or maybe to his Wrackspurt. He gets thrown off when Malfoy whirls around and snaps, "You know, you haven't gotten any better at that. Don't you have something to _do_?"

"Nope!" Harry lies cheerfully. Technically he's supposed to be in archives, but he thinks Ginny will forgive him skiving off for the sake of mending bridges with her best work friend. "Do you need any help with anything? I'm here to, er, help."

Malfoy heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his expensive-looking short haircut, still just as impossibly blond as ever and mesmerizing in the bright hospital light. Harry remembers pressing his nose into the soft strands on the rare occasions that they ever fell asleep together, and wonders if they still smell like poncy apple shampoo. Talks himself out of getting close enough to find out.

"I don't have time for this," Malfoy throws out, turning on his heel and starting away. Harry shuffles to keep up.

"Look, I know it's weird with us, you know, and I'm not particularly heartbroken that you don't want to be my friend or whatever, but for Ginny's sake, and for Ron and Pansy's too, for that matter, we should try—"

"Actually," Malfoy says loudly, stopping again and then pointing towards the entrance to the Chauncey Oldridge Ward for Diseased Adults. "We've got a ward full of patients who got into some spoiled pumpkin juice at a wedding and have been vomiting nonstop for the past 15 hours. I'm sure their emesis basins need emptying. I would ask a nurse to do it, you know, but since you've nothing to do and we're so understaffed…"

Harry gapes at him for a moment, long enough for Malfoy to nod and smirk and then shoo him towards the ward. "Thanks ever so much, Potter, really. It's so wonderful to have citizens of our Wizarding world pitching in and doing their part. You are a shining example for us all." He starts to stalk away and calls over his shoulder, "And do try not to use magic, Potter, it could interfere with the healing spells and potions. Thanks again!"

To his dismay, when he tells Ginny about it at lunch, cringing away from the sight of her food and unable to keep from picturing it regurgitated, she just laughs at the gall of her stupid sodding _friend_. "Oh, my, and you believed him? He's a sick, sick man, we just Vanish those, Harry."

Needless to say, this doesn't make him feel better, and he's still in the middle of a sulk later that night when Hermione tries to drag him out with her on their Friday night pub crawl.

"Vomit. Up to my elbows in _vomit_. If I go out for a drink with him I will drown him in his Firewhiskey."

Hermione's face tries and fails to hide the same traces of amusement that Ginny's held; she manages to wisely curtail any laughter, though. "Yes, well. That was quite mean, you're right. But it's not like we de-clawed him, Harry. He's still a Malfoy. You shouldn't let it bother you; take it from where it comes."

This turns the sulk nearly into a temper tantrum. "You've all been brainwashed, I think. It started with Parkinson, using her feminine wiles to lure Ron in—I always knew he thinks with his dick, but I expected more from _you_, Hermione."

Predictably, she swats the bait aside without taking it and turns it around on him. "Well Harry, just because feminine wiles are useless on you—"

"Hey! Was that a gay joke?"

"—it doesn't mean that Pansy is anything but a pleasant—well, okay, no, she isn't pleasant. But she's good for Ron, surely you see that. Who cares if she used her feminine wiles on him, we're all perfectly happy about it. She keeps him in line, I have to respect her for that. And you know she's a ruthless prosecutor, surely _you _can respect that."

"Giant fucking Slytherin conspiracy, I'm telling you."

"And how are you going to handle the wedding? Pansy Parkinson will _not _tolerate you acting like a toddler. You're to be best man! I don't think it's a tradition in pureblood weddings for the bride to murder the best man, but don't think that will stop her."

Harry just can't stop thinking about all the vomit he had cleaned up that day. Or how hot Malfoy had looked telling him to do it.

"I'll figure it out. Just go, Hermione. Tell everyone I'm sick. Tell _Draco _I caught pumpkin juice poisoning."

"You can't catch that. Honestly, you used to be much better at insulting Draco back in school. At least get on his level, if you can't rise above it again."

Harry has been on Draco's level. He doesn't want to admit how much he might like to be there again, and what, exactly, he'd like that to involve.

Later, though, after yet another night of Hermione's couch and Crookshanks and take away, his scowling roommate returns and informs him, "I was wrong. You _are _on the same, buffoonish level. Draco didn't show either. He picked up an extra shift to monitor the pumpkin juice patients. It's like you're both 15 years old again."

Harry can't help but take some satisfaction in that, even if it might not be the kind he'd had in mind before.

* * *

Enough nagging from Hermione over the weekend, though, has Harry willing to take another crack at the Malfoy situation that Monday morning. He's watching Ginny yell at Zacharias for ignoring her Wrackspurt calls earlier that day, trying to screw up his gumption to approach Malfoy's office, when the man in question pops up near his shoulder and nearly scares him to death.

"Gah! You scared the shit out of me!"

Malfoy narrows his eyes at him, and Harry is too out of practice in reading Malfoy facial expressions to puzzle out this one. Plus, it's early, and Harry hasn't finished his coffee yet.

"Volunteer Potter," Malfoy says formally, as if they're meeting for the first time. Around the counter, Zacharias and Ginny have gone quiet and are watching them; Zach seems to be scowling, for some reason, though Harry can't be arsed to think about it too much when Malfoy is _right there_. "I'll need some help in my office today. I've fallen behind on organizing my research, and your help would be much appreciated." He turns from Harry and smiles disarmingly at Ginny. "If I may borrow him for the morning, Nurse Weasley?"

"Oooh, take him!" Ginny blurts out, and Harry really, _really _hopes he's not blushing. "He's all yours."

Malfoy, amazingly, blushes a bit at that. The only one to notice besides Harry seems to be Zacharias, and suddenly he's looking between Harry and Malfoy suspiciously. "Hey, Draco. I could help, if you want."

Harry has to fight the sudden, ridiculous urge to growl at him. Malfoy shakes his head at Zach but turns the smile on him, and Harry still wants to growl. "No, thank you, Mediwizard Smith. I'm sure you'll be needed on the floor." He looks around at where various other staff members are watching them, too: Tabitha and Michael, a junior Healer that Harry doesn't know, a few giggling nurses, and Brigid, the other Mediwitch, who looks half asleep and bored. Malfoy thins his lips and glares at them all.

"Okay, you can all sod right off and get to your jobs now, this isn't a floor show."

As he leads Harry away, everyone on the floor seems to start whispering in tandem, and he can practically hear Malfoy's eyes rolling ahead of him. Harry spends the walk trying and failing to think of something appropriate to say, and by the time he thinks of it, they're there.

"I like your office," is his brilliant conversational gem, and Malfoy just looks at him oddly and points to a metal filing cabinet in the far corner of the room, opposite the white couch. He draws his wand to Conjure a chair and then levitates a large stack of files over to cabinet.

"There. You'll find the filing system fairly easy to decipher, even for a halfwit like yourself. Sort them neatly and organize them; when you're finished you can go back to the archives."

The idea of leaving this big, open, cheerful space for the musty darkness of the archives room sounds awful, and not entirely because one room has Malfoy in it and the other doesn't. Harry resolves to take his time here, getting himself comfortable in the decidedly uncomfortable chair Malfoy had Conjured him and reaching for the first file.

"So."

Malfoy has taken his seat behind his desk, the mid-morning sunlight illuminating him softly through the window behind him. Gray eyes flash when Harry speaks, and he grips a quill tightly and looks pointedly down at whatever is on his desk. "There's no need for talking, Volunteer Potter."

_Volunteer Potter_, Harry mouths incredulously. As if he'd never put his tongue—well. He just snorts and starts looking slowly through the file in his lap, not absorbing much of what he's looking at until he realizes he can use it as a conversation starter. "So, er, you're researching memory spells, then?"

Malfoy stiffens, but doesn't look up. "I fail to see how that's any of your business. Perhaps Zach was right; this task may be too difficult for you."

"He didn't exactly say that," Harry snaps, annoyed at the implication that _Zach _would do a better job. "Fine, I'll shut up. Wanker."

"That's Wanker-in-Charge to you, Volunteer Potter."

It takes him a full minute to realize that Malfoy had made a joke with him, an honestly good-humored joke, and by then it's too late to be properly excited about it. He deflates and continues going through files.

Another 20 minutes of silence and he's got the courage to try again as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, are you helping Luna with these spells?" He makes a face at all the complex clinical notes in handwriting he recognizes from long ago, but unable to make any sense of it now. Malfoy is exhaling noisily.

"No. Healer Lovegood doesn't need my help, she is an accomplished Mind Healer in her own right. Keep her out of this."

"Out of what?" Harry wonders, but Malfoy is back to ignoring him, and Harry sighs in frustration and goes back to the paperwork. For a whole two minutes.

Then: "Ginny told me your specialty was magical pathology and diagnostics. She said you'd be working down in the Lab if you didn't hate it so much. So why are you working with—"

"By Merlin, you are absolutely _terrible_ at this, aren't you?" Malfoy suddenly bursts out, getting out of his seat. Harry's eyes widen and he stands up, too, slowly, as if near a frightened animal.

"Er—terrible at what? This whole, ah, unresolved sexual tension thing? I know, I'm sorry, I just don't have much experience with this sort of thing, the only ex I ever see regularly besides you is Ginny, and she doesn't really count."

Malfoy gapes at him, seeming to struggle between a self-righteous glare and a haze of disbelief. "Unresolved—ex—what? I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just marveling at the stupidity of the Ministry to send the least subtle Auror in history after me."

Now it is Harry's turn to gape in disbelief, and he drops the file he's holding haphazardly. "What? You think I'm—you—what? I'm not involved with the Ministry!"

Malfoy rolls his eyes, waving his arms dramatically. "Oh yes, of course you're not. You expect me to believe that you just ran off to some obscure, North American wasteland—"

"Canada," Harry interjects hotly, immediately defensive of his adopted nation.

"—for ten years and for _no _reason and then all of a sudden got a whim to come clean vomit and battle dust bunnies on the very floor I just happened to be put in charge of? Pull the other one, Potter, I'm not an idiot. Which makes one of us, honestly, because you are the absolute _worst_ at getting information out of people, even on a floor where gossip gets passed around like a two Sickle whore!" The last bit is shouted, ridiculously, and Harry hopes that there are people outside the door, listening to their paranoid, madman boss rant and rave.

"You're insane," Harry throws back. "I'm not some—_I am not spying on you for the Ministry_! Hell, why would I want to be involved with a Ministry _infested with Slytherins_?" Okay, maybe Harry's shouting, too.

Malfoy doesn't seem to hear him. "And you have some nerve, asking about Luna. What is it, then, she's suddenly a person of interest now because she and I—"

"No one's a person of interest! I'm not a bloody Auror! You're paranoid!"

"I get it, you know. I'm the only one they haven't sunk their claws into yet—they've got Pansy and Blaise and Theo, and Daphne through Theo, and they had Greg but now that his probation's ended I'm sure they'll be coming for him soon, are you here for him too? You'll have a tougher time infiltrating Mungo's security department, though I suppose a flash of that forehead deformity and a cute grin and you're _in_, you sodding—"

"MALFOY. Would you _listen_? I am not a Ministry spy. I haven't stepped foot in the Ministry since ten years ago, when I told them to go to hell. I'm not here to gather information on you, or Goyle, or _Luna_, or any of your friends. I mean, you're ridiculous to think the Ministry can touch any of you now—Pansy has the whole Wizengamot by the bollocks, according to Hermione, and Nott's on the fast track to the Minister's office, and sodding Zabini's schmoozed his way into every pocket there is. You're all like weeds, everywhere, you can't be gotten rid of." He's breathing hard at the end of this, unable to believe he's ranting _on behalf_ of Slytherins, and honestly, if Ron weren't so pussy-whipped, he'd be laughing his arse off at Harry somewhere right now.

Malfoy is staring, probably equally unable to believe it, and his face is cold and reluctant. "So why have you been stumbling around here, acting like an awkward buffoon?"

He tries to think of a non-humiliating way to say _I can't stop thinking about having sex with you_. "Er, well, like I said. I thought it was the unresolved sexual tension."

"Unresolved sexual tension?" The iciness seems to be fading from Malfoy's demeanor. He seems to have realized that he just had thrown a giant, paranoid fit for no reason; Harry hopes he can get him to blush again. "I'd say it's pretty resolved, actually. You know. Been there, done that."

Harry grins and ducks his head; oh yes, there's the blush. "Well, if you say so." He clears his throat. "So, since I'm not spying on you, and we're apparently not going to jump each other's bones—"

"Apparently," Malfoy mutters, almost ruefully.

"—think we can try giving the inter-House bonding bullshit a shot? I mean, I hear you're okay out of bed, too." Malfoy glares at him, and all it does is give Harry more courage. "Do you really think I have a cute grin?"

"Oh, that's it. Get out of my office, you useless Ministry spy! You've messed up my research."

"So that's a yes for the grin, no for the bonding." He sighs mournfully, backing towards the door. "Fine. But it's on you when Pansy's wedding is ruined because the best man and the—other best man can't be in the same room together." He pauses faux-thoughtfully. "Hermione says she's the murdering type."

"Out, Potter."

He puts his hands up in surrender and reaches the door, but before he's through completely, Malfoy adds, "Tell Ginny I'll take lunch with you guys. If I'm not busy."

Harry paints a cute grin on his face and nods without turning around.

* * *

Lunch that day is ridiculous, and surreal, and frustrating, and mostly ridiculous. Harry hopes it happens every day.

It's nothing like Harry had ever imagined—it's much, much weirder. For one thing, it's not just Ginny, Harry and Draco, the way he'd wanted it to be. Zacharias pops in at some point before Malfoy has arrived, wearing lime green robes again that have blood splattered all over the front, and goggles he refuses to explain. When Ginny bitches at him to clean himself up, he starts going on and on about the vicious vampire-human couple fight he had broken up downstairs in Emergency. Harry dislikes him more and more as minutes tick by and Malfoy still doesn't show, like it's Smith's fault, somehow.

Then, when Malfoy does show up, he isn't alone—Luna Lovegood is following him placidly. Harry had only seen her once before since returning, and that had been before he'd known about she and Malfoy. They had had a conversation about the price of dragon dung, and how it should be raised to accommodate the Nargles that help it keep fresh for potion-making. Now as he looks at her, lovely and smiling serenely up at Malfoy in lime green robes open over a shimmering purple sundress, he wonders about all the other things they could've been talking about. Things, or rather people, they actually had in common.

"Hello, Harry," she says softly when they reach the rooftop picnic table Harry, Ginny and Zacharias have claimed. She smiles at Ginny and Zacharias and sits down primly next to Malfoy, directly across from Harry. "It's very nice to eat outside today. I've gotten quite sick of Draco's insistence that we eat in my office."

Ginny snorts and rolls her eyes. "You are such a child," she informs Malfoy pointedly, and he responds by sticking his tongue out at her.

"It's okay, I understand," Luna puts in, and she's suddenly peering at Harry fixedly. Harry shifts under her hazy gray gaze for a moment, before she looks to her side at where Malfoy is heating up soup with his wand. She pats him lightly on the hand, and to Harry's surprise, he doesn't even snap or scowl at her. He just tests his soup. "He doesn't do well outdoors."

"Like vampires," Zacharias exclaims, and then starts telling them all about his vampire story. Harry tunes him out once again and can't stop staring at how close Luna and Malfoy are sitting. He watches Malfoy steal a carrot stick out of Luna's salad and feels something ridiculous inside him clench.

"So Malfoy thinks I'm a Ministry spy," Harry blurts out, interrupting Zach and Malfoy's debate on the resiliency of vampire blood.

Malfoy glares a bit and mutters, "Well, I don't anymore. Still think you're a moron, though." Then he burns his tongue on his soup and scowls darkly at everyone.

Zacharias starts laughing. "Oh, God, Potter, a spy for the Ministry? Please, even they're not _that _stupid, he has the sleuthing skills of an Erumpent."

"Oh, I'm well acquainted with Potter's sleuthing skills," Malfoy adds, and everyone pauses at that for a moment. Harry wonders how they constantly deal with these kinds of moments all the time—they're inevitable, of course, for people who have lived through what they all have, with the same kind of hurtful memories they all share. He remembers how he'd felt when he'd first seen the faint, barely-there scars on Malfoy's chest, or the faded Mark on his arm—like history was about to swallow him whole. He knows that Canada had been partly to avoid moments like these, and he wonders if it wasn't such a bad idea, as awkward silence stretches out a bit longer.

Then, Zach huffs out another laugh and waves his sandwich accusingly in Malfoy's face. "See, exactly my point. Potter couldn't even successfully spy on you when you _were _committing various acts of evil. What possibly made you think he could pull off spying on the youngest Healer-in-Charge in Mungo's history?"

And for possibly the first time in his life, Harry is actually grateful to Zacharias Smith.

"Draco has been having doubts about his own self-worth," Luna offers, and Malfoy groans and thumps his forehead against the table as that sets Ginny and Zach off laughing hysterically.

"Thanks, Luna," Malfoy mumbles into the table, and Luna smiles sweetly.

"You're quite welcome."

"So that's why you've been acting like a spoiled, overdramatic toddler," Ginny accuses. "I mean, more so than usual."

"I do _not_ have fucking doubts about my—"

"No, no, I mean—you really thought Harry was here to catch you doing something wrong?" She softens and gives him a pitying look Harry knows immediately that he'll hate. "Oh, Draco…"

"Can it, Weasley, no one asked you. I've obviously come to my senses; you're right. Potter would never do something like that." Malfoy pauses long enough for Harry to be pleased about it, and then of course he ruins it. "He's much too stupid."

"Harry is very intelligent," Luna admonishes gently, and she gives Harry a look that's like, _prove me right, please_. Harry wisely decides not to say anything, lest he fail her.

"If you really think I'd let any Ministry spies on _my _floor, spying on _my _Healer-in-Charge, you don't know me very well," Ginny tells him, and she reaches over and pats Malfoy's hand. _This _he gets annoyed at, drawing his hand back and wiping it on a napkin in a pointed sort of way. She brandishes her fork at him, moving threateningly as if to stab him, and Luna giggles as Malfoy clangs his spoon against it in defense.

"Right, of course, you'd gut them with your silverware armory," he taunts. He jerks his chin towards Harry. "Even your precious Potter, definitely."

"He's not _my _Potter anymore, right Harry?"

"Right. But you wouldn't really stab me with a fork, would you?" Harry inches a bit away from her and eyes the transfigured metal prongs with some trepidation. Ginny levels him with a dangerous look and grips the fork tighter.

"Of course I would, if I thought you were doing something to hurt Draco." She whirls back on Malfoy. "And I'd do it to you, too, if I thought you were doing something to hurt Harry."

"That's so sweet I could vomit," Zacharias sighs, and Luna giggles again.

"So why _are _you researching memory spells?" Harry asks once the cutlery has been reclaimed for eating. "Now that you know I'm too stupid to spy on you and am actually just curious."

"Why are _you _working on my floor?" Malfoy demands back. Harry rolls his eyes, but Luna, Ginny and Zacharias all chime in with answers before he can.

"Because he's bored," Ginny grins.

"Because Hermione told him to," Luna correctly hypothesizes.

"Because Lenore Coalfleet likes to make you cry," Zacharias deduces with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle.

"Because I can't stand the Ministry, and Canada is too far away, and because I haven't got anything better to do," Harry bursts out. Then he looks sheepishly around at the rest of the table and grudgingly adds, "And, er, all of that too, yeah."

"Draco is wonderful with memory spells," Luna informs him as Malfoy grumbles into his soup about burnt out, heroic wastes of space infringing on his territory. "He's almost as good as I am. He's saved a lot of lives studying memories. He developed a cure for magical atrophy with them."

"That was _you_?" Harry splutters, looking at Malfoy incredulously. Even Toronto had heard about St. Mungo's revolutionary treatments for late age magical atrophy, adding years onto the lives of elderly witches and wizards whose magic had slowly left them, weakening their bodies and spirits. Prior to a few years back, everyone had just accepted magical atrophy as a part of life for some people—like your hair going gray or getting wrinkles. Apparently, it had been Malfoy who changed that.

"I didn't really develop the cure," Malfoy says, as if admitting his own excellence would be agreeing with Harry and therefore unpleasant. "I just figured out that it was a memory disease instead of an autoimmune response, like we always thought before." He rolls his eyes at Harry. "You didn't think I got my job on my good looks and sparkling personality, did you?"

Harry cringes and doesn't admit that he'd sort of assumed the Malfoy fortune had had more to do with it than anything.

"I did," Zacharias tells him, winking, and Malfoy rolls his eyes again.

"Well, it was only partly that," he huffs. "Mostly it was my stunning brilliance and careful planning."

"Don't forget your weekly temper tantrums," Ginny chides.

"Or your Quibbler campaign," Luna adds.

"And your army of angry old people," Zacharias pipes up, and Malfoy groans again.

"Careful. Planning. I hate you _all_."

"We love you too," Luna says, and dips a pickle in his soup.

Harry wonders if Canada was worth missing this—this strange foursome of different House representatives, comfortable and sort of cranky but generally loving. He thinks of how he and Ron and Hermione had been like that once, at Hogwarts and through the war and even those few years after school, when they had started in the working world and before Harry and Hermione had left the Ministry to pursue other things. They had had lunches a lot like this, Ron and Hermione poking and prodding at each other like an old married couple, and Harry watching them and relishing all of their warmth.

He misses that desperately, and it's all gone now, anyway—Ron's been hijacked by Slytherins and Hermione will be back at Hogwarts come September, and Harry has no idea of his place within this new world.

But as Ginny warmly asks him about how the archives are coming, and Zacharias laughs at his unfortunate assignment for the umpteenth time, and Malfoy and Luna lean in to listen, one reluctant and one interested, he thinks it might not be so difficult to find a place again.


	3. Part Three

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, mentions of blood and medical drama

**Word Count:** ~6400

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Hi guys! Thanks so much for reading. I would really appreciate hearing some feedback from you. Feedback is sort of like crack for us starving artists. Actually, it's better than crack; we can't really afford crack if we're starving artists. It's a bummer, yes. So, yes, please leave some more accessible crack for me, hee, so I know whether or not it's worth it beyond my own OCD tendencies to continue posting here.

**Part Three**

The lunches improve his job only fractionally. Instead of spending the majority of his time in the archives now, Malfoy seems to enjoy finding new and interesting and sometimes disgusting things for him to do, claiming that obviously, with all of Harry's bitching, he's finding the filing too difficult and needs something a bit more on his level. Harry just takes this all in stride, because he prefers almost anything to the archives, and also because Malfoy's much hotter than Ginny is when bossing him around.

He's turned the whole awkward, stupid attraction to Malfoy into sort of a routine: start out the morning drinking coffee at Station One with Ginny and Zacharias, watch Malfoy prowling along the floor snapping at Trainees that aren't entirely awake yet. Lob out a few innuendos and some stilted flirting as Malfoy gives him an assignment and ignores it all pointedly. Try for any excuse to get to watch rounds. Spend lunch alternately stabbing Luna Lovegood with a fork in his mind and trying to find some sort of hint of interest in Malfoy's barrage of insults and general grumpiness. Come in the next morning and repeat.

Hermione asks him one night, amidst color-coded lesson plans and self-packing, nearly prepared briefcases if he's interested in anybody at work. "Not really," he lies, knowing that admitting this sort of thing to her is just like sending Draco a first class, urgent Owl about it.

"Haven't you met anybody new?" Hermione wants to know, and he shrugs and she scowls. "Well, what about Zacharias? He's quite fit, though a bit of a prat, I suppose, but we've been trying to get him laid for quite a while now."

"You did _not _just try to pimp out Zacharias Smith. To _me._" Harry thinks that Malfoy would be proud of the Shock and Outrage he manages to convey in his voice.

Hermione just waves at him impatiently, letting loose with some of Smith's high points, and suddenly the last two weeks in August cannot go fast enough; he can't wait for Hermione to go back to work.

He's resigned himself quite well to his secret lust for Malfoy as time slips by, and his initial 200 hours are going by faster and faster in a haze of green children, mutant dust bunnies, and Watching Malfoy. He justifies it nicely by citing Malfoy's physical features that have improved with age: more muscle definition, a more confident walk, the eyes that suddenly seem much more bright and alert than years ago. He's reconciling Adult Malfoy with Kid Malfoy, who had been good-looking in his right, and decides it's mostly the progression that he finds desirable.

And if Malfoy is sometimes funny and endearing and rather cute when being a grump, well, that doesn't matter. Harry really just wants his body.

And then, of course, Malfoy has to ruin it all. Because that's what he does.

It starts out as a perfectly normal Monday morning—everyone looks slightly dead and is wandering around the ward, acting like they want to kill each other. Ginny, in particular, is in a bad mood, because she had accidently scheduled herself a double shift the night before and is going on very little sleep. Zacharias is pissed off because Malfoy had caught him napping in an empty room in the children's ward and reamed him out in front of a lounge full of giggling patients. And Malfoy is pissed off because he's always pissed off.

Harry is quietly yawning his way through redoing the Refilling charms on a bunch of water pitchers that the food staff had forgotten about over the weekend. Ginny is muttering to herself at her desk below him, and Malfoy is chastising a junior Healer for performing a Warming charm on a patient with a severe fever. Everyone stops when a loud, echoing voice suddenly floats through the ward.

"_Paging Nurse Weasley to Emergency, Nurse Weasley to Emergency..._" says the voice, and Harry jumps and looks up but can see no source.

"What was—" he starts, but Ginny has gone pale and is staring at Malfoy, who looks just as stricken.

"Sparrow," he calls out to the Trainee trying to sneak by without being noticed. "What's going on in Emergency?"

"Um," Sparrow tries, looking at Malfoy like a frightened deer. "I—I'm not sure, it's a madhouse, um—I think there was, uh, some sort of Auror raid or someth—"

Ginny jumps to her feet so fast her chair gets knocked over. "Ron," she breathes out, and Malfoy swears and Harry catches up immediately.

"Come on," Harry says hoarsely, grabbing Ginny's arm as she takes a step and stumbles. They start swiftly towards the lifts, Malfoy beating them there by a second and jabbing his wand harshly at the doors to make them open. The ride down is tense and awful as Ginny's breathing speeds up and Harry tries to keep his thoughts calm. It could be nothing; Ron hates anything to do with hospitals or Healers, he probably fainted at the sight of a broken bone or something. It's probably nothing, he decides.

"They—they wouldn't page me for nothing," Ginny whimpers, as if reading his mind, and Malfoy shushes her quickly.

"Don't, it's okay, we'll—" But he doesn't get to say what they'll do, because the doors open with a rush of sound.

Sparrow was right; the Emergency department is a total madhouse. It usually is, Harry knows, but today there are what must be about 30 people in maroon Auror uniforms littering the hallways in various states of injury, some moaning and complaining, some not so lucky and laid out on stretchers. Blurs of lime green are rushing about, and magenta-robed nurses are moving somewhat slower but no less urgently as they try to assess each patient's priority.

A Mediwizard Harry doesn't recognize spots Malfoy and Ginny while rushing between two stretchers and calls, "Trauma Two, _hurry_!" That starts them all and Malfoy practically flies down the hall, leading a much shakier Ginny and a frozen Harry behind him.

The first thing Harry can register is all the blood—there is entirely too much blood on the exam table, and the floor surrounding it, and the clothes of Ron and the Healers and nurses surrounding him. Ginny stops short and lets out a small desperate sob that Harry barely hears over the sound of his own pounding heart; he stops behind her and grabs her to keep from running forward. Ron is too pale, and he is not moving, barely _breathing_, oh God, and Harry feels like fear is crushing every bone in his body.

Malfoy swears again and glances back at them. "Get her out of here, Potter," he says, and then doesn't even get mad when he's ignored. He just swoops in towards the exam table, brandishing his wand and barking out questions.

"What level of blood replenishing?"

"7. Malfoy, what are you—"

"Up it to 9, and what the fuck, where are your oxygenation charms, he's not even—will someone get a _real _Healer in here, please, this is not the time to learn by doing." The Healer Malfoy's harassing gets pushed to the side as Malfoy starts casting spells furiously. "Watch his blood pressure, Stacey, there's a girl—are we all closed up? _Tergeo_. Why isn't anyone cleaning this blood? I can't see anything. Good, now come on Weasel, Pansy will fucking murder you if you don't make it to the wedding."

"Malfoy, you shouldn't be here," the Healer tries, but is totally ignored by everyone in the room, especially Malfoy.

"There's something wrong, his heart rate isn't—did you do a full cardio scan? Potter, _out_."

"No," Harry insists desperately, tightening his grip on Ginny's arms and unable to look away. He feels sick and helpless and frozen between jumping in and doing—what? What could he possibly do? He shouldn't be watching because he can't _do anything_, and there's always been something for him to do, and yet he can't look away for anything.

"Of course I did a full scan, for fuck's sake Malfoy, you don't even work on this floor—"

"Leave him," Harry spits at the Healer advancing on Malfoy. The man rounds on him with his mouth open and freezes when he sees Harry snarling dangerously at him.

"What are you—"

"Stacey!" Malfoy suddenly cries out. "Pressure, watch it—"

"I see it, oh—"

"Fucking hell, there's a bleed. _Wonderful _scanning there, you missed a—Potter, get her out of here right the fuck _now_. I'm serious." And then, into his Wrackspurt: "ZACH. I need you."

And as Zacharias Smith Apparates in almost instantly, and Ginny bursts into messy, desperate tears and shrieks, "Oh, no, _Ron_!" because she knows what Zacharias Smith means, Harry finally does as Malfoy says and drags Ginny out of the trauma room.

A harried-looking nurse rushes them to a small waiting room not far down the hall; there is no one and nothing in it except for a few chairs and a fireplace. The nurse gently sits Ginny down and asks her if there's anyone they can Floo; Ginny manages to sob out her parents' names and then, miserably, "_Pansy_, oh _no_!"

The nurse makes the Floo calls as Harry sits by Ginny and numbly pats her on the back. He's trying to banish the images of all that blood and Zacharias Smith popping in like an angel of death. _I need you_, Malfoy had called, and Harry doesn't even think about jealousy, can only think of how desperate he must have been to say that out loud. And it's _Ron_—Ron, who he's barely seen since coming back, who he'd been avoiding because of Pansy, because he's a giant stupid hypocrite that shouldn't be allowed friends. Ron, who he'd spent 10 years barely speaking to, is probably dying a few rooms over, and for once, there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.

What follows is probably some of the worst 40 minutes of his life—the Floo flares to life first with Molly and Arthur, both pale and shaking and rushing to Ginny, and then Pansy, grim and drawn and rigid. For a moment, nobody says anything to her, and Harry can sense the chilliness from Molly and the awkwardness from Arthur. But then Ginny breaks free of her parents' arms and runs to Pansy, grabbing her into a hug that does nothing to break her stiff posture.

"Is Draco in with him?" is all Pansy says, and when Ginny and Harry confirm it, she simply nods resolutely and sits down with her hands folded in her lap. "Good. He'll be fine, then."

She doesn't sound as sure as she looks, though, and Harry doesn't have the heart to tell her that Zacharias is with him, too.

Hermione shows up next, breathless and demanding information from everyone from Harry to the hospital janitor she spots walking by the door. Greg Goyle lopes in a few minutes later with Luna in tow, and they both huddle around Pansy as the Weasleys had done with Ginny. Goyle sticks his head in the Floo and comes back with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, and a moment later a very pregnant Daphne Greengrass rounds out the whole crew. They all stay in their little cluster, ignoring Molly's evil eye and murmuring encouragement to Pansy and Ginny, and it's only when Hermione returns from her information expedition that Harry feels remotely comfortable again.

"This department is full of the most incompetent people I have ever met," she tells everybody briskly, as if they care about that. Harry starts to glare at her, even as he keeps a clinging arm wrapped around her, but she gives everyone a firm, confident smile. "Don't worry, though. Draco's in there."

For some reason, Hermione saying it seems to bring the mood up just a tiny bit. Pansy doesn't relax, and neither does Molly, but Ginny echoes Hermione's sentiment, and Zabini backs her up.

"Draco hasn't lost a patient in quite a while," he tells the group. "There's no way he's gonna let a _Weasley _break his streak."

It gets a few weak smiles, but everyone is still shifting restlessly, crowded into the too-small room together, and Harry really can't stand the waiting. It feels like hours before Zacharias suddenly appears at the doorway, sweating and exhausted but smiling at them, and it's only then that Harry feels like he can breathe again.

"He's okay," he tells the room, and there is collective sigh of relief as Molly finally succumbs to the tears Ginny has gotten over. "It was—I mean, yeah. We came close. But he'll be fine. Draco's prepping him to get moved up to Spell Damage, so we can all head up there in a few minutes to see him."

Everyone starts hugging each other, the Slytherin group going for a rather strange-looking tackle-hug with Pansy in the middle and Luna watching with a smile. Hermione has her arms around Harry's neck entirely too tightly, but it's okay because Ron is _fine, _he's okay, and he'll take any kind of strangling she wants to dish out because everything's okay now. Ginny bypasses everyone else and runs to Zach to give him a huge hug, and even when he lets her go she hangs on and whispers, "Thank you, _thank you_," into his chest.

He tucks his chin to the top of her head and squeezes her tightly again. "It's okay, Gin."

Draco meets them as they're trekking towards the lifts. He looks just as tired as Zacharias, and the Healer from before is walking behind him and squawking about department policies and courtesies, but he smiles at everyone and accepts a few hugs. As soon as Harry sees him he gets this weird, warm feeling all over that isn't burning, isn't that desperate sort of lust but something different, something purer and much more dangerous. It feels fierce and big and good and for a second they lock eyes and everything is brilliant, spectacular, because Malfoy saved Ron and nothing will ever make that not wonderful.

"Thank you," he breathes out to him, and for once Draco doesn't look at him oddly the way he always does when Harry says something remotely positive. He simply nods and then reaches out to quickly grasp Harry's hand.

"It's alright now," Draco says calmly. "He's fine. It's okay; everything's fine."

And as Harry's knees shake and he lets out a high, breathless laugh and squeezes Draco's hand for dear life, he puts a name to that warm feeling and wonders if that's entirely true.

* * *

"I'm really glad you're okay," Harry tells Ron for about the 400th time. Ron snorts good-naturedly and shakes his head, but Pansy finally snaps.

"Oh my God, aren't they paying you to be _doing _something in this ridiculous place?" she demands furiously, whirling around from where she's directing half a dozen pairs of pajamas into the worn down wardrobe in Ron's hospital room.

"Er, no," Harry tells her apologetically. "They're not paying me at all, actually. I'm a volunteer."

"Couldn't get a real job, Potter?"

"No, I just didn't want one." He's trying very, very hard to be the bigger person. It's very painful.

"So I suppose the Chosen One is too good to work for a living, then?"

"Pans," Ron groans, and Harry tries, he really does, for his sake.

"Look Pansy, I think it's still my visiting time, and I know you've got priority here, but he's still my best friend, and I'm not just gonna leave because it's annoying you." He thinks he succeeds in sounding logical and reasonable. Even if he is calling her a pug-nosed bitch in his mind. It's just in his _mind_.

Logic and reason seems to make her even angrier, though. "It is _not _still your visiting time, your visiting time ended 10 minutes ago, there is a _schedule_, Potter, and even The Boy Too Irritating to Die has to follow it."

"Guys, come on," Ron pleads, and he throws his arms out and gives them a big, cheesy grin. "There's plenty of Ron to go around, you can learn to share."

"Sweet Merlin." They all look to see Draco standing in the doorway, looking revolted. "I could've gone my whole life without that mental image, thanks Weasel."

Ron turns the smarmy grin over at Draco and coos, "My _hero_!" He puts a hand to his forehead and pretends to swoon, and the only one to crack a smile is Harry. The Slytherins, predictably, just look cross.

"I have to kick you both out now, so the threesome will have to be postponed. Hopefully until I'm out of the country, or maybe the continent, or maybe dead," Draco informs them. Pansy and Harry both start to protest, and he holds up a commanding hand and indicates the quiet Healer standing behind him. "Healer McEnroe has to check over your pet Weasel, and as a non-family member, Potter, you can't be present. Pansy, you've been banned from being within 10 feet of any St. Mungo's employees." The Healer peers over Draco's shoulder to glare at Pansy, and Harry notices his black eye with some amusement.

Pansy glares back and crosses her arms over her chest. "You'll stay?"

"Of course." Draco looks slightly offended that she even had to ask. It makes Harry feel sort of gooey inside, which makes it easier for him to be ushered out of the room.

He snaps out of it as soon as he and Pansy are alone in the hall, and he starts to wonder if he should try for some awkward small talk. She starts in before he can even think of what the weather is like.

"I'm on to you, Harry Potter," she thunders, and Harry's thinking _what? How? _and starts running over the latest encounter with Draco in his head, trying to figure out if he had drooled or sighed or did anything more than just feel gooey.

"It's not what you think," he says urgently, and Pansy lets out a small, growly sound and backs him up against a wall.

"Oh yes it is," she seethes. "You think you can just waltz back in here after 10 years and just pick up where you left off—"

"You know about that?" he exclaims wondrously. He'd been sure that no one knew about him and Draco's NEWT year tryst, except for maybe Luna, who'd been making suggestive comments and shooting him odd, intensely penetrative glances all week.

"You bet I do, and I'm not gonna let you just come back into his life like you own it and expect him to start following you around like a puppy dog again! Things change, he's changed, and I'm not gonna let you get close to him if you're just gonna hurt him again!"

Harry considers the puppy dog thing for a moment, frowning. "Er, he never followed me around like a puppy dog. I mean, he liked to bite, yeah, but it always struck me as a bit more feline—"

"What the _fuck _are you on about?" Pansy demands shrilly.

Harry stares at her. "Um. I think we might be talking about different things. What are _you _talking about?"

"I'm talking about your ridiculous and appalling treatment of Ronald! Oh, it's _so sweet_, isn't it, you acting like the doting best friend _oh so concerned_. Where were you when he missed that promotion a few years back? Or when that psychotic baby snatcher he was chasing went free on a technicality? Or when his harpy bitch of a mother refused to talk to him for a month because he proposed to me? Oh, I know! You were bobsledding and hunting moose in some frozen tundra somewhere—"

"Canada," Harry mutters, wondering what Canada ever did to Slytherin House.

"Well I am _not _ gonna let you get his hopes up again, okay? I'm not gonna let him get attached only for you to up and decide that you miss maple syrup and beavers too much." Pansy is not even out of breath, so practiced she must be at long, angry rants, and Harry wonders if she and Draco and the other Slytherins had practiced this art down in the dungeons together.

"He's my best friend," is just about his only weapon, and Pansy's lovely red lips go pale with anger.

"Really? How quaint. I had hardly noticed, what with the lack of letters and the waffling, 'oh, I _might _be at the wedding, Ron, I'm not sure, I'll have to fit it into my busy fucking hero schedule' and the fact that you've barely even spoken to him since you've been back!"

"Look, Pansy. I can promise one thing—I'll definitely be at the wedding. And I'm definitely not going anywhere. I came back because I _missed _everyone, and I want to make things right. And, well, yeah, I've been acting like an antisocial arsehole since I've been back, you're right, but that has nothing to do with Ron. I've mostly resolved it now, I think, so I'll be coming out with you guys, probably—"

"Oh well _thank Merlin_, the Chosen One has seen fit to grace us with his presence—"

"—and I'm gonna try to get along with you but you've got to meet me halfway, don't you?" Harry only lets a little bit of desperation color his voice. He doesn't like Pansy Parkinson, and he won't beg for her friendship, but he knows now that she and Ron are a package deal, and there's no way he's going to let this drive them further apart.

"I don't _have _to do anything—"

"It'll kill Ron if we can't get along and you know it," Harry tells her quietly. That finally gives her pause, and when she lets go of her righteous anger for a second, he can see all the residual fear and desperation in her dark eyes, the fierce protectiveness there that makes Harry realize that Hermione is right: Pansy is good for Ron.

"If you hurt him…" she starts warningly, and he puts his hands up in surrender.

"I know. Believe me, I know."

She purses her lips, but lets her face soften a bit, and finally she nods minutely. "Fine." Pansy backs off and allows him to move away from the wall a bit; she looks away and then quickly looks back, mouth twisted in amusement and suspicion, now. "So, now, who were you talking about? Who bites?"

Harry splutters for a bit, but he's saved by the arrival of Healer McEnroe and Draco, who looks vaguely impressed with them both. "Wow, you haven't killed each other. How disappointing."

"Am I allowed back in now?" Pansy asks harshly, and when Draco gestures in the affirmative, she sweeps forward quickly towards the door. She pauses for a second before entering and, without looking back, says, "Potter, you can have 10 extra minutes, if you'd like." Draco snorts but Harry can't help but grin and start forward.

"Coming, Draco?" he asks as he goes. The blond shakes his head, looking exasperated.

"Certainly not. Prolonged exposure to freckles makes me break out in hives."

"Ginny has freckles," Harry points out helpfully.

"Ginny's personality and work ethic have rendered her unfortunate breeding moot. Run along, Potter, and keep them in line—if they even _think _anything inappropriate about each other on my floor—"

"This isn't your floor!" Harry can't help the laughter in his voice, because Draco is ridiculous, and this is _so incredibly stupid_, feeling this way about him. He's an arrogant, pompous snob who takes himself too seriously. None of that should be even remotely endearing, and he tells himself that it wasn't until Malfoy saved Ron, and became Draco in his head.

"Shoo, Potter. You've managed to catch Pansy on a good day—"

"Oh my God."

"—so don't squander her goodwill."

Laughing a little desperately now, Harry does as he says and goes into the hospital room, though he can't resist turning around and watching Draco leave.

* * *

He keeps his promise to Pansy and joins them all for their Friday night out—the last one before Hermione and Neville have to leave for Hogwarts, and only a day after Ron is released from the hospital. Harry arrives at The Thundering Thestral with Hermione on his arm and his stomach kind of jumpy. It's one thing to be included in casual lunches with a few people from the hospital. It's another thing entirely to get drinks with a bunch of people who hate him, interspersed with the people he's let down the most.

The pub isn't crowded; it's early yet, barely 8, and the small crowd of witches and wizards mingling at the bar and by a few tables is still quiet and sedate. A Wizarding band that Harry doesn't recognize is warbling on the Wireless but nobody is actually dancing, which gives Harry some relief.

They spot Neville at a largish table in a corner, sitting and talking casually with Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass. He seems perfectly at ease, even if his eyes keep travelling down to Daphne's large, pregnant belly and then darting away. He grins as Hermione and Harry near.

"Awesome, Harry, you came!" he blurts out, and stands up to shake his hand. Nott stands up, too, though he is much more reserved in his handshake, and Daphne gives him a small smile.

"Hello, Potter. Hermione finally twisted your ear enough?" she asks with a teasing, wary lilt to her voice. Harry tries to remember if he ever had any problem with her, other than her being a Slytherin, and can't find any, and then decides it doesn't matter. For Ron, and Pansy, and even Draco, none of that matters anymore.

"It's really boring at her place," Harry tells her, pulling out a chair for Hermione and dropping into one himself. "The only thing to do is read."

Nott snorts and sips at a glass of something dark and viscous-looking. "Don't you know how to read, Potter?"

Harry starts to get offended but stops when Daphne slaps her husband on the shoulder playfully and gives Harry a stronger smile. "Ignore him," she tells him quickly. "He's just cranky because I sent him out at 3 in the morning to find Pumpkin Pasties."

Nott starts muttering darkly to himself and then slams back the rest of his drink with a grimace. When his face sorts itself out, he smiles grimly at Harry. "Fatherhood is not as sweet as it seems. I highly advise against it."

"Oh Theo," Hermione chides, shaking her head. "You'd think you'd have gotten used to it by now." To Harry, she says, "This is their third little bundle of joy."

"We're going to try and give the Weasleys a run for their money," Daphne sing-songs, and Nott chokes on air beside her. Hermione and Neville laugh at him, and once again Harry is struck by how very odd all of these people are with each other.

Ron and Pansy arrive next, Pansy talking fast and shrilly as Ron just grins easily beside her. She gives Harry a look that tells him she'd quite like to see him boiled in hot water, and then rushes at Daphne and starts cooing at her stomach.

"You've gotten so big, Daphne," Ron says thoughtlessly, and the three women at the table attempt to eviscerate him with their eyes as Nott laughs helplessly.

"I'll let it slide because of the near-death experience," Daphne says coldly. "But another comment like that and Pansy will be marrying a eunuch."

"A definite improvement," comes an unmistakable voice, and Harry's whole body seems to hum as Draco and Luna join them. Harry registers that this is the first time in a long time that he's seeing Draco in anything but work robes—he's making a sweater vest and black trousers look like solid gold, and Harry can't help but stare a little, until Draco catches him and snaps, "Stop _staring_, Potter, you freak."

They Summon more chairs and squeeze into spots beside Pansy and Ron, and Harry wonders how any more people are going to fit at the table. Hermione, of course, just makes the table larger with her wand as Zabini and Goyle arrive, and then again when Ginny and Zacharias show up. A waitress appears and flirts with Neville while scribbling down their drink orders, and Harry takes bets on how long it will take for the table of cranky Slytherins to lose their patience with her.

"_Finally_," Ginny sighs when she spots Harry. She addresses Ron. "Thank you for almost dying, Ron, and getting Harry to stop acting like a hermit. It's much appreciated."

"Anything for Harry," Ron responds, grinning and reaching over to clap Harry on the back.

"So how was Toronto, Potter?" Zabini asks him suddenly, seeming to take the kinder, Daphne approach to dealing with him. Pansy is still giving him the boiling water glare, in between talking to Daphne's stomach, and Goyle seems to be looking anywhere but at him. Nott appears to be taking a nap at the table, and Draco must be talking about something nerdish with Hermione and Luna, because Hermione looks like she wants to whip a piece of parchment out and start taking notes. "I haven't been there since I was a teenager."

"It was fine," Harry says politely, wishing he knew how to speak to Slytherins. Zabini falters and rolls his eyes upward, as if asking _why me?_ and Harry tries again. "Er—I liked being an Auror there. I could be myself more, and nobody had any expectations. Plus the crime rate was rather low. Wizarding Toronto is much quieter than here."

Harry can see Zabini choke on about a dozen derisive comments. When he manages to come out with a slightly strangled, "Good for you, Potter," Harry is strangely proud of him.

"Oi," Ginny snaps at the odd trio of Draco, Luna and Hermione. "Stop talking about work. You are all so incredibly boring." Two thirds of the trio glare at her, and Harry reels back from the weirdness and strange rightness of the combined forces of Draco and Hermione. Luna smiles apologetically and tilts her head.

"Am I really boring, Ginny?"

"Dreadfully," Draco tells her evenly, and then he winks.

"I don't think there's anything boring about saving lives," Hermione says hotly. "Draco and Luna are doing vitally important work—"

"What kind of work?" Harry asks quickly, and half of the table groans loudly and glares at him.

"Why'd you have to go and do that, Harry?" Ron whines. "Now they'll _never _shut up."

"Don't worry, Weasel, I'll use small words," Draco says cheerfully.

"Bite me, Ferret."

"You wish, sweetheart."

"Well, Draco _is _a biter," Pansy suddenly says, loudly, and she looks pointedly at Harry. Harry goes red and promptly knocks over the shot of Firewhiskey that the flirty waitress is putting in front of him.

"Watch it!" she snaps, and then she gets a good look at him. "Oh my—Harry _Potter_!"

A silent pause follows, in which Harry becomes horrified that she's going to make a scene, and see, _this _is why, more than anything, he likes being a hermit in England. The waitress starts bouncing on her heels and she opens her mouth, probably to squeal, but is cut off suddenly by a loud, shocked voice.

"_No. Way_," Draco gasps. "Harry _Potter_! At _my _table! Say it isn't so!"

"Oh Mr. Potter!" Ginny bursts out, fluttering her hands madly at her own face. "Oh you _ must _sign me an autograph, please oh please, I'm _such _a fan!"

"Would you like my firstborn, Mr. Potter?" Zacharias demands. "Oh please, Harry—can I call you Harry? Please take my firstborn!"

"Take mine, too!" Theo insists, and Daphne whacks him on the back of the head because it's entirely possible he's not joking.

"Thanks ever so much for telling us," Draco says to the waitress, who has turned bright pink and is staring at them all like they're crazy. Which is probably halfway true. "We'd never have known it was him if you hadn't said anything."

"We owe you one, Melody," Zacharias adds, throwing in a flirty grin.

"Yes, we'll put in a good word," Pansy says archly, and then her face goes harder. "You can run along now."

The waitress lets out a small, frightened sound and then scurries away. Harry can see her composing the letter to the Prophet in her head. And yet, as he looks around the table, at Hermione and Luna, who are leaning against each other in a fit of giggles, and Draco and Zach, who look very pleased with themselves, and all the rest, who look either amused or dangerous or both, he decides he doesn't really care.

"You guys are like a crazy, inter-House task force," Harry tells them in wonder. Ginny grins and preens.

"Yes. Exactly. We are all so entirely badass."

"Taking over the world, one irritating waitress at a time," Draco proclaims, holding two hands up and spread wide to illustrate the magnitude of their reach.

"And now we've got _the _Harry Potter on our team, we can never be stopped!" Zacharias slams his glass down on the table in mock excitement.

"Look out, world," Harry agrees, and when everybody cheers, he joins them, and can't really get rid of his smile for the rest of the night.

* * *

They move on from The Thundering Thestral after another round or so. Daphne and Theo beg off to head home, and Neville claims an early morning and follows, but the rest of the group heads out cheerfully and tipsily to The Slinky Serpent, closer to Knockturn Alley and showing it.

"So you guys like alliteration, huh?" Harry remarks as they enter the darkened, smoky place. Hermione laughs and Pansy glares from the crook of Ron's arm.

"Shut it, Potter. What are your favorite places, then? The Angry Moose?"

"Someday Blaise and I are gonna bring you all to Canada and show you that it is actually quite a civilized country," Harry vows.

"Here, here," Zabini assesses, and then ignores them all to start flirting at the bar.

This place is definitely more of a club than a pub—it's much more crowded and noisy, and the crowd seems to skew a bit younger. Music blares much, much louder, and there is a mass of bodies on the dance floor that had been absent at The Thundering Thestral. Harry watches it with some trepidation.

They all stand and chat idly by the bar for a few minutes, before Draco rolls his eyes and says, "And you call _us _boring." He grabs Luna by the arm and twirls her out onto the dance floor, making her laugh, and to Harry's utter shock, Goyle immediately follows with Hermione, of all people.

For once, he's paying more attention to them than to Draco and Luna, so he almost misses the dark look Ginny exchanges with Zacharias.

"Uh-oh," Zach says, and even Harry can tell when Ginny is about let everyone know how much she disapproves of something.

Ron, unsurprisingly, ignores the signs. "So. 10 Galleons says the Malfoy-Lovegood thing is back on by the end of the month." Ginny glares, and Zacharias snorts.

"No way. I think they'll just do their hit and run thing, like they do sometimes, and that'll be the end of it."

"You're on," Ron says, and pumps Zach's hand. Pansy smacks them both.

"That's my best friend you're betting on, you pigs."

"I don't like it," Ginny sighs, shaking her head. "It just doesn't make any sense—it's come out of _nowhere_.

"Hit and run?" Harry wonders out loud, feeling queasy. Everyone gives him a look that's like, _oh you poor virgin_. He glares at them. "Oh shut up, I know what it means. I just mean, er, is that something they do often? I still can't see it."

"Too often," Ginny complains. "It's terribly unhealthy. It's like they've ruined each other for anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," Harry snaps, and then blushes. Pansy gives him that knowing look again but thankfully says nothing; Harry orders her another drink immediately.

"It's just so odd," Ginny continues. "It's like he's, I don't know, wooing her again."

"Malfoy woos people?" That Harry finds even harder to believe.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Blaise puts in, having struck out and rejoining the group. "They're both adults. No meddling, Weasley."

"I'll meddle if I want to, Zabini," she retorts hotly. She takes an angry gulp of Pansy's blood red drink and then grabs Zacharias roughly by the arm. "Come on. We're dancing."

Ron and Pansy soon follow, disappearing into the throng of bodies. The only way Harry can still spot Draco and Luna is by their bright hair, and he keeps his gaze on them as Blaise shuffles next to him and eyes him speculatively.

"So," he says slowly, and it takes Harry a second to drag his eyes away from them and turn to his companion. "Do you miss Toronto?"

"No," Harry says immediately, and it's only as he says it that he realizes it's true. He'd had friends in Toronto, and lovers, and he'd quite liked his life there. But there had always been something missing, and that was a lot of why he'd come back. He knows living there had been necessary, and he'd never take his decision to go there back, but he'd never take this decision back, either.

Blaise grins, and his eyes are sparking with an interest that would probably have intrigued Harry to no end if Draco hadn't been in the room. Blaise is quite good-looking, Harry would have to be blind not to admit that. But as he looks at Blaise, he's reminded of all the Toronto men—the ones with something missing.

Something is always missing, and as his eyes drift back to the dance floor, where Draco is shimmying ridiculously with Luna and laughing out loud as Pansy sandwiches him from behind, he's pretty sure he knows what it is.


	4. Part Four

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language,

**Word Count:** ~7500

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Thanks a bunch for your reviews, they were lovely! Reading reviews reassures me that there's interest and that it's worth it to keep posting here, so definitely continue with that trend, it's definitely a lot of fun. I hope you enjoy this part—one of the main driving plotlines has its birth in here, and there are some interesting twists with the secondary characters (which I've honestly had so much fun with, even beyond the H/D-ness). So let me know what you all think, I'm _dying _to know!

**Part Four**

The Dilys Derwent Ward is crazy that Monday when Harry returns to work. Ginny explains that it always is this time of year—frantic Hogwarts parents desperate to shove their children in for last minute checkups, claiming imaginary ailments that Draco, of course, has no patience for.

"We've got to keep him away from the ward," Ginny tells Harry urgently as she flies by with a stack of charts and a look of desperation. "He'll kill them all." Zacharias and Brigid are equally rushed and harried, and the Trainees look like they're about to cry more than usual. Only Healer Tabitha Crowley looks calm and collected as she sweeps through the ward, though she always is. Harry doesn't know how she does it, but she manages to both soothe and get rid of worried, hypochondriac parents quickly and efficiently.

Other Healers avoid the ward like the plague—basic checkups are generally the jobs of Mediwizards, and even though the adult ward is rather dead, they all gravitate there. Sparrow, the Trainee that still looks a day away from a mental breakdown, is drifting towards there around the time Harry tries to block Draco from going into the Derwent Ward.

"Er," he says eloquently, which of course puts Draco into an even better mood. "Ginny said—"

"I know, Ginny thinks I should be locked away before I do something I'll regret," Draco fumes. "Well, that's _my _ward and I'll be damned if I let those paranoid freaks overrun it. Out of my way."

"Sparrow was asking for you!" Harry blurts out, and the Trainee whips around and gives Harry such a look of intense betrayal that he has to cringe away.

"What do you _want_, Sparrow?" Draco demands impatiently. Sparrow quivers a bit, looking down at the charts in his hand for inspiration, and then looks up again, squaring his shoulders.

"Um, the, um, the Lab hasn't—that is, I, uh, sent a blood sample down for a—for a, you know, a Scrofungulus patient in 220-B, and—uh—they haven't, you know—"

"Let me see," Draco grits out, and, still trembling slightly, Sparrow hands him the chart in his hands. Draco looks and then swears.

"Three fucking hours my _arse_. Sparrow, go down there and tell them if they haven't got your results by noon, I'm personally going down and destroying them all. Tell them I'm just waiting for them to give me a reason, and I don't have time for this." Sparrow remains stationary for a moment, mouth open slightly, until Draco barks, "GO," and he scampers away.

"God, that's hot," Harry throws out carelessly, and Draco whirls around and smirks, then bows, then seems to remember who Harry is and scowls again.

"Sod off. And get out of my way—now I'm in an even _worse _mood, now's a really good time to butcher some hypochondriacs."

"How come you were never this commanding in bed?" Harry tries, acting as if he didn't hear him. Draco reels back and splutters and starts to look distinctly uncomfortable.

"Would you shut up? People will hear you!" And then he screws up his face and hisses, "And I distinctly remember being quite bossy with you, considering you had no idea what you were doing."

"I think I was a quick study," Harry lobs back, and he grins flirtatiously. "And you weren't so much bossy as you were petulant. But it's okay." He leans in closer. "I think that's pretty cute."

"Touch me and die, Potter, I swear to you—"

"_Draco_!" comes a breathless voice from Draco's Wrackspurt, snapping them both out of the conversation. Harry scowls as he recognizes Zacharias' voice, and Draco shoves past to run to wherever he is.

He feels guilty a while later when Draco, Ginny and Zacharias congregate at Station One, all in various states of dejection. Draco looks pissed, of course, but Zach and Ginny both look upset.

"We lost an 8-year-old," Ginny tells him quietly. "We were all just so busy with the—"

"With the perfectly healthy little sods who _shouldn't be here_," Draco seethes, and he slams his fist onto the counter hard, without even a wince. Zach grimaces and moves to touch his shoulder, but suddenly Draco spots Sparrow hurrying by and stiffens. "Sparrow," he says hoarsely, and the Trainee freezes. "Is it noon yet?"

"Um. Y—yes?"

"Have you gotten your blood work back from the Lab?"

"N—no, they didn't—"

"For fuck's sake." Draco slams the fist down again, and flexes it slowly by his side, before jerking back and letting a slow, awful smile spread across his face. Sparrow swallows hard.

"Sparrow," he says icily, snapping his wand into his hand. "Have you ever seen a magical pathologist cry?"

Sparrow shakes his head.

"Good. You're in for a treat. Come." And with that, Draco stalks away towards the lifts with Sparrow at his heels, and Harry can't help but grin and watch.

"Merlin help them," Ginny breathes out.

When Draco returns, he's in a much, much better mood. It's a bit disconcerting, actually, to watch him flirt with nurses and thank Sparrow for backing him up in the Lab. Harry tries to get some flirting in before lunch but Draco just ducks his head and sidesteps him neatly, shoving Sparrow into his place.

"Have you two been properly introduced?" he asks, a frighteningly cheerful grin stretching across his face. "You actually remind me quite a bit of each other."

"Hey!" Harry exclaims, and then shoots an apologetic look to Sparrow. "Um, sorry, mate."

"You should join us for lunch, Sanford," Draco offers magnanimously. Harry mouths _Sanford?_ in disbelief for a moment as Sparrow lets out a small _eep_ and shakes his head vigorously, just as frightened by benevolent Draco as he is by on-the-warpath Draco.

"Uh, n—no, thanks, I think I'll—I mean—I'm gonna just. Go over there now." And he bolts down the hallway, leaving Draco to smile fondly after him.

"I like him," he says gleefully, and Harry reaches out to feel his forehead for fever.

"You're scaring me," he tells him seriously, and Draco cackles delightedly.

"Brilliant! I love scaring volunteers."

All in all, Harry is quite happy when September 1st rolls around and he sees Hermione and Neville off to Hogwarts from good old Platform 9 and Three Quarters. And not just because he'll get to enjoy a Hermione and Crookshanks-free living space from now on.

"Try and Floo as much as possible," Hermione tells him crossly, mid-hug. Harry nods and agrees for the umpteenth time, but that doesn't stop her. "And don't forget to water my honking daffodils, they _will _start going off at all hours of the night if you don't. And try not to turn my flat into a pig sty, will you, I'd like to come back to an inhabitable environment for Christmas. And—"

"Hermione," he tells her, looking over her shoulder suddenly. "Um. Goyle's here."

There, looking hulking and awkward at the edge of the train platform is Greg Goyle, wearing his Mungo's security uniform, eyeing Harry and Hermione's hug with a strange mix of longing and resignation. Hermione blushes, actually _blushes_, and leaves Harry with a quick kiss on the cheek and a called-out, "Bye, Harry!" She dashes towards Goyle and Harry watches with no small amount of bewilderment.

"Is that not the weirdest thing you could imagine?" he asks Neville, but the other man doesn't seem to be paying attention. Instead he's shuffling around awkwardly, clutching a satchel tightly in one hand and staring off into space. Harry frowns at him. "Alright, Neville?" He wonders if Neville has a thing for Hermione, too, and if he's jealous, but another look tells him he's not looking at Hermione and Goyle but truly off into space.

"Oh," Neville says distractedly, and suddenly he's wearing a deep frown and focusing on something. Or rather someone, Harry realizes, as he spots Susan Bones walking and laughing with a man Harry doesn't know.

"Go talk to her, Nev." Harry grins supportively, thumping him on the back. "Psh, that bloke's got nothing on you." He eyes the man up, taking in older features and a sharp-looking face, plain brown robes and a too-skinny frame. "Go on," he prods when Neville doesn't seem to hear him, and Neville gives him a troubled nod and starts forward.

"See ya, Harry," Neville calls, and Harry smiles and gives him a thumbs up.

Soon enough the train is whistling away and Harry and Goyle are left amongst parents who are alternately teary-eyed and happily cheering for their own freedom. He turns to Goyle, who's staring at where the train had pulled out wistfully, and tries, "Er, fancy a walk back to the hospital?"

Goyle gives him a look of honest confusion that Harry knows Draco must mock constantly, and then Apparates away without a word. Harry sighs and kicks at the ground a bit, before shrugging and going on his way.

He gets to Station One in time to see Draco, Ginny and Zacharias clinking coffee mugs together and toasting the start of the new school year. "They're Pomfrey's problem now!" Draco crows, eyes gleaming with such satisfaction that he forgets to glare at Harry in greeting. Harry tries not to melt into a sticky pile of goo right there but it's a tough thing.

The good mood continues throughout the day and at some point, Draco seeks Harry out in the archives room and beckons him out into the hallway.

"Come on, I've got a better job for you. Here." And he zaps him with a cleaning spell _without even a nasty comment_. Harry fights off a swoon.

"This is the most important job on the floor, Potter," Draco tells him matter-of-factly. Harry does a little dance in his head. "It may not seem like much, but this is the root of all of my work here. The fruits of all my labors. My _pièce de résistance_. The—"

"The Abraxas Malfoy Ward for the Elderly," Harry reads, and then looks at Draco and shrugs. "I'm, um, honored?"

Draco's nose twitches a bit, but he doesn't lose his smug smile. "Good. You should be. Today, I'm gonna let you talk to my Forget-Me-Not patients."

It gets clearer as he's led into the ward; Ginny and Draco had explained that the Forget-Me-Not treatment is Draco's way of combating magical atrophy, a combination of potions and spells all designed to help the body remember how to do magic.

"The trick is to stimulate the mind while the treatment is going on," Draco explains in his _I am such a genius and you know it _voice. He gestures at the rows of beds, where monitoring spells are pulsing softly over older patients hooked up to potion pumps. They're all reading magazines or playing chess; some are chatting quietly with each other, and others are, of course, whining at the nurses. All of them turn and beam at Draco when he appears, and he beams back.

"Hello, all," he calls out sunnily. "I've brought your entertainment for the day." And he gives Harry a little push out towards the middle of the floor. "Enjoy! I'll be back to check on you later."

"Wait," Harry protests. "What do I—"

But his only answer is Draco's retreating back and soft chuckles. Harry glares balefully at him, then turns back to his audience.

"Erm."

"Do you dance?" asks one wizard with a long, straggly white beard and a striped beret on his head.

"Maybe you can sing us something!" a delighted older witch suggests.

"Didn't I see you in the paper once?" a salt and pepper haired man demands. Harry jerks around to look at him.

"Er, no, no. Must've been someone else." He looks at the tray table hanging over the man's bed. "Hey, is that a Muggle deck of cards?"

The man frowns and eyes Harry warily. "What's it to ya?"

"Um, you wanna see a magic trick?"

* * *

Predictably, Harry is a huge hit with the old folks, and he gravitates there more than anywhere else in the following days. Ginny tells him that it's a big deal that Draco had let him work with them: "He barely even allows me in there, and Zach's only allowed in if someone's dying."

But that's only part of what makes Harry so psyched up about the work—seeing the older people so invigorated and excited about getting back out in the world is making him feel that way, too.

"Mrs. Cochran is taking her granddaughter to Peru," he tells his friends over lunch one day. "She's 123 years old. She can still Apparate! It's fantastic."

"It's so sweet that this is so inspirational for you, Harry," Ginny smiles at him, though her eyes keep flicking worriedly over to where Luna and Draco are sitting too close together again.

"Did you know that Mr. Fredrickson has an illegal dragon ring in his backyard? I mean, don't tell Ron, you know, but he's like a 90-year-old Hagrid! He takes good care of them and everything, he showed me pictures…"

"Keep this up and I'll start to get jealous, Potter," Draco puts in, and Harry freezes for a second, a different sort of thrill coursing through him. Draco sees the misunderstanding immediately, though, and rolls his eyes and grits out, "You know, I don't like it that they've replaced me with you, _I'm _their real hero, you know."

"Potter's _everyone's _hero, though," Zacharias points out. "I think that trumps you."

"Fuck off, Smith, _I'll _trump _you_."

"Boys," Luna chides softly, placing her hand over Draco's. He softens under her touch and Harry wonders when he started to actively dislike her. Ginny makes a small, angry noise next to him.

"Draco," she says tightly. "You should come over after work tonight. There's something I want to talk to you about." She cracks a slow, wry smile. "It'll be nice; you, me, a bottle of Ogden's finest…"

Draco blinks at her, looking perplexed. "Nurse Weasley! Are you trying to seduce me?"

She sputters and gags. "God, no. That's disgusting. Be like fucking Ron."

Harry and Zacharias laugh as Draco's face contorts into hurt. "Take that _back_, how dare you?"

"Come on, Draco," she wheedles, fluttering her eyelashes at him. This just makes him shudder.

"Can't, Gin," he says once he's gotten over it. He sounds truly apologetic. "We've got dinner with my parents tonight."

Ginny scowls immediately. "And I wasn't invited?"

He blinks at her again. "Um, no? When have you ever had dinner with my parents?"

"Well, maybe you should've invited me! I—well, I like them well enough."

"My father tried to kill you!"

"Oh, whatever. It still would've been nice to be _asked_, for once."

Zacharias gives her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I'll have dinner with you if you want, Gin."

"Bugger off."

"Um, Ginny, you can come if you really want to," Draco tries, still sounding incredulous. He indicates Luna. "I'm sure Luna won't mind, right?"

"Of course not." Luna gestures at Harry and Zach, too. "You can all come, if you'd like. Lucius and Narcissa treat their houseguests wonderfully."

"I remember," Harry mutters darkly, and regrets it as an awkward silence overtakes the table. Draco has stopped looking confused and now just looks dejected, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Harry casts about in his head to think of something to break the tension and finally comes up with, "So Mrs. Aldridge is a groper, huh?"

Draco grins and pounces on it. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I forget to mention that?"

"Wanker."

"Arse or groin?"

"Both, two separate times."

"Stop it, Potter, or I really will get jealous."

Put off her meddling for the time being, Ginny retreats, but Harry knows that she's not nearly finished, even if she doesn't storm Malfoy Manor that night.

In the end, though, she never even has to do anything—the Draco-Luna issue comes to a head all on its own. After the fact, Harry almost wishes that she had meddled.

Harry's carting a box of bakery biscuits to the Abraxas Ward one morning when Draco sweeps past him and asks Ginny where Sparrow is.

"Not his keeper," is her surly remark, and so it's up to Harry to tell Draco that he'd seen Sparrow going up to Spell Damage to look in on a purportedly revolutionary curse removal that's supposed to be happening.

"Of course he is," Draco sighs, and he heads for the lifts. Harry doesn't think much of it for a while, so immersed is he in pleasing the old patients with his biscuits.

It's only until later, when he emerges from the ward for lunch, that he notices the clusters of Healers and nurses all floating around the floor, looking more preoccupied than usual. They are all whispering furiously to each other, and they don't stop when Harry walks by, so he can be grateful that it isn't about him. He catches one look at Ginny's murderous face and realizes that something definitely isn't right.

"Who died?" he asks her, cringing when he realizes that's a bad question to ask in a hospital.

"No one, _yet_. I swear, though, when I get my hands on her—"

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" she snaps harshly, and then she rounds on the little groups of employees still standing around. "And you all better shut the fuck up when he gets out here, because if I hear _any _of you say something to upset him—"

"What happened?" Harry demands, rapidly getting worried. Ginny spins back around to face him.

"Draco caught Luna and Sparrow in a supply closet upstairs."

"_No_."

"_Yes_. I can't even believe—"

"Where is he?"

"Locked in his office, but I wouldn't advise—"

"I'll see you later."

He doesn't even bother thinking about what he wants to say—he's just preparing himself for all sorts of Draco scenarios. Maybe he's drinking himself into a stupor in there—Harry can handle that, he's done it before. Maybe he's breaking things—Harry can certainly handle that. Maybe he's crying—okay, that's a long shot, but Harry vows that he'll handle _that _better than the last time he had. He's prepared to batter the door down, if he has to, because who knows what Draco could be doing, it could be dangerous to leave him alone right now.

What he's not prepared for is Draco's door to easily fly open and for him to be sitting calmly at his desk, making marks in a medical journal with a highlighter quill.

"I suppose you've heard, then. Have they all shut up, yet?"

"I'm sorry, she's a bitch, I can beat Sparrow up for you, if you'd like."

"Don't call Luna a bitch, you dolt." He tilts his head to the side. "I don't really care what you do to Sparrow, though."

"I don't understand," Harry says slowly, concern still coursing through him. He shuts the door behind him and crosses swiftly to the chair in front of Draco's desk. "Is this some weird, Malfoy reaction to heartbreak? Honestly, I was expecting a tantrum at the very least. This is just creepy."

"Luna and I haven't been together for a long time, Potter," Draco tells him rather patiently. "She is obviously free to do as pleases. It's truly not the big deal that everyone's making it out to be."

"But she's—I mean, you guys were together for _three years _," Harry points out insistently. Draco sighs.

"Yes—_three years ago_. I'm not gonna lie and say we've been saints with each other for all of that time, but no, what we had ended very completely three years ago. We've both known that."

"So why've you been all—y'know. Cozy and stuff."

To his surprise, Draco flushes pink, and like always, it causes a curl of delight to slowly unfold inside of him. The blond grimaces and then says, "I'll admit that my intentions haven't been very honorable, which is why I can't be angry about this." He stares pointedly down at his desk, still delectably rosy. "I may have been using her to, er. Distract me a bit."

Harry frowns, and leans forward in his chair. "Distract you from what?"

Draco looks up to glare at him, roughly the color of bubblegum, and suddenly it clicks. He hears Ginny saying, "_it's come out of nowhere_," and things slide into place a bit. The hiding out in Luna's office, the insistence that she always accompany him to lunch—lunch with _Harry_.

"Me," Harry says wondrously, unable to stop the delighted laughter from bubbling up in his throat. Draco glares harder but doesn't argue. "You wanted her to distract you from _me_?"

There's a sound right outside the door—a small noise that has them both looking towards it. Draco's face tightens and he waves his wand, murmuring, "_Muffliato_."

"Don't let it go to your head, Potter," Draco starts as soon as the spell shoots out, looking adorably flustered. Harry laughs again. "It's not—anything big. Just—look, it's been a long time, and it's weird, you know, interacting with you like this, with all our friends and none of them even _know_."

"Luna knows, doesn't she?"

"Of course she does, we talked about all our past lovers—but that's not the point. No one else does, I've made sure of it. And it's going to stay that way—"

"But I don't get it. If you're still interested—"

"I am _not _still interested!" he bursts out, so forcefully that Harry falters for a moment. It's only the panic in his eyes and the ever resistant flush that keeps him hoping.

"You are," Harry insists, and he can't help but grin. "You _are_, it's okay Draco, I'm obviously interested as well—"

"I don't care!" he practically shouts, and Harry falters again. "It doesn't matter who's interested or isn't, it's stupid to even think about."

"_Why_?"

"Because I'm not 18 years old anymore, Potter! I have a little more respect for myself now than to let myself be your _plaything_ again."

Harry swallows hard and looks down for a moment, wanting desperately to fix the hurt that he hears in Draco's voice but unable to figure out how. "I never said I wanted—"

"Oh save it, Harry. I'm not going to discuss this right now. It's resolved, right? Been there, done that. Let's just leave it." He takes a big, slightly wet breath that's like a punch right to Harry's chest, and looks at him with intense eyes. "Please. Leave it. We've—we've been doing well lately. Let's not muck it up again."

"Yeah," Harry sighs helplessly, even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He resolves to himself that this isn't over, and concedes defeat only for the time being.

"Thank you for checking up on me. You can tell Ginny I'm fine, and to stop being angry at Luna. She didn't do anything wrong."

Harry snorts. "I can try."

Draco makes a movement, like he's going to say something else. But he quickly pulls up short. "Thanks."

Later, when Lenore Coalfleet catches Harry on his way out and asks him, with a knowing smirk, if he'll be extending his volunteer hours, he screws up the image of Draco pink and flustered and _interested, _dammit, and gives her an emphatic, resounding, "_Yes_."

* * *

Things are still tense between Luna and Ginny for the rest of the week, and she's notably absent from lunches. Zacharias, too, is in a noticeable funk, and Harry starts to wonder if he'd ever crushed on Luna. The feathers he spots sticking out of the top of Sparrow's head one morning certainly suggest that.

The floor takes its time getting over the gossip and drama of it all, even as Draco spends his days threatening them all with various types of bodily harm if they don't stop acting like a bunch of old gossipy hens.

Only Tabitha Crowley, who is, in both Harry's and Draco's opinions, the most professional Healer on the floor, manages to act unconcerned about the whole thing. The only topics of conversation that she brings up are patient-related, and Draco is obviously grateful for her.

"Potter," Draco snaps after a quick conference with the senior Healer. "You'll have to skip out on your adoring fan club today and pitch in a hand in Derwent."

"But we're in the middle of an intense Rummy tournament!" Harry protests. Draco gives him his favorite _someday you'll realize what a simpleton you are _look but otherwise ignores him.

"Your, ahem, _charms _are needed elsewhere. There's a frightened Hogwarts first year who has an alarming fever that even Madame Pomfrey can't get down. We've ascertained that she's not contagious, so you needn't bother with a Bubble-Head Charm, but just keep her company for a bit while we try and get her diagnosed. Her parents are abroad and can't make it in until later."

"Fine," Harry sighs, not really bothered by it. He can't imagine what a bummer it must be to be in your first year of Hogwarts and too sick for the Hospital Wing already.

Draco sniffs distastefully and shoots a quick glance at Zacharias, who's leaning against the Station One counter and sulking, for whatever reason. "She's a Hufflepuff, heaven help her," he says a bit loudly. Instead of making Zach sneer and retort something, though, he just gets a sullen glare for his troubles, before the Mediwizard stomps off, presumably to nap.

"What crawled up his arse and died?" Harry asks, and Draco shakes his head.

"He's an idiot," he says softly, and then he snaps back to himself and starts shooing Harry away.

Iris Baxter is a tiny, round-faced girl who lies in her small hospital bed curled up like a snake under a rock. She is sweating and red and Harry's heart breaks when he notices tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Hello," he says gently. "I'm Harry. Would you like some company?"

The girl says nothing, just stares at him frightfully, her eyes watery and hazy with fever. Harry swallows hard.

"I have some books," he offers, pulling the shrunken children's books out of his back pocket and enlarging them. He starts towards the chair by the bed and she lets out a small, frightened sound and squeezes her eyes shut.

"D—don't," she whimpers, and Harry freezes.

"I'm—hey, it's okay," Harry tells her softly, inching forward towards the bed. Somewhere to the left of the bed, there is a monitoring spell lit up that is pulsing faster and faster, and he eyes it but doesn't know what it means. He takes another cautious step forward and she lets out a sob that eats right through him. "Oh, no, hey. I'm not gonna hurt you. They're gonna make you better here; these guys are the best Healers in the—"

"Don't!" Iris cries out, the spell pulsing madly, her tiny fists clenching at her sides. Harry's about ready to concede defeat and get a Healer but he takes one more step, hand outstretched, slow and non-threatening. "_No_!" she shrieks, and Harry forces himself not to reel back suddenly and frighten her more—

And the books in his hand burst into flame.

With a startled yelp, he drops the books—onto the bed. Cursing his own stupidity, he leaps forward and grabs at the girl even as she shrieks and flails at him. The flames spread rapidly across the bed as he yanks her off it and brandishes his wand.

"DON'T!" Iris screams again, kicking at him wildly, but he chokes out a quick, "_Aguamenti_!" and aims it at the fire. It is only when the spell does nothing, rather, makes the fire spread _further _that he realizes that it's Fiendfyre, and he swears loudly and throws himself and Iris as far back from it as possible.

Just as he reaches the door, it flies open and Draco runs in, followed by Tabitha. "What in the _hell_—" Draco starts, but stops as he spots the fire eating up the bed and the surrounding area completely. He moves between Harry and the fire and pulls his wand.

"No, it's Fiendfyre! I think magic's feeding it," Harry shouts, and Iris positively wails and slaps him hard in the face. She _feels _as if she's on fire, burning hot in his arms, and he grips her tighter to him.

"Get out of here, now! Tabitha, check her over! The magic levels in this room are off the charts, I think it's all her!" Harry forces himself out into the hall and, when Tabitha follows him, he shoves the girl at her and then rejoins Draco in the room.

"I said _out_, Potter!" Draco shouts, but Harry can see the way he's shaking violently, and he stands beside him without another thought.

"_Finite _on three, are you ready? One, two, three—_FINITE INCANTATEM!_"

The force of their combined spell hurls towards the fire—and Draco only just manages to shout out a quick, "_Protego_!" as the resulting explosion rocks them back.

Harry grabs Draco by the arm and barely manages to keep them both on their feet. "We'll try _extractum magia,_" Harry gasps. "Cuts off the power source. On three—one, two—"

Another explosion, but this one seems to swallow the Fiendfyre up, leaving both men panting and leaning against each other in the badly scorched room.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks him breathlessly, but Draco says nothing and just yanks his arm out of his grasp, backing towards the door. As Harry sighs and follows, he sees that a small crowd has gathered outside in the hallway, but Tabitha and Iris are nowhere to be seen. Michael Corner is staring at Harry and Draco and the room incredulously.

"What the _fuck _happened in there?" he asks, and the surrounding staff all echo his question.

"That's what I'd like to know," Draco says hoarsely, and looks at Harry. Ginny shoves a nurse aside and gasps at the sight of them; Harry wonders if he's sweaty and dirty like Draco is.

"Where's the girl?" Corner demands, and both Draco and Harry quiet him with matching glares.

"She's with Tabby," Draco tells him, then puts a hand to his head. "Shit. Potter, what happened?"

"I—I don't know," Harry admits, and Corner groans and the rest of the gathered crowd titters nervously. Draco lets out a small noise of discontent and advances on them all.

"Get back to work, there's no more threat." There is none of the usual mockery in his voice—he is quiet and serious, and they all shuffle off immediately. Only Ginny remains and she starts patting down both Harry and Draco, checking for injuries. "Just—explain. What did you see?"

"The magic levels in that room were—" Corner starts, and Draco glares again.

"Potter's talking now, Michael. Shut up. Go, Harry."

Slowly, Harry recounts the insensible events in the room, and as he's finished, Tabitha joins them looking somber and worried.

"So, wild magic," Corner says at the end of it, but both Draco and Tabitha shake their heads.

"No way. It took 17 years and an ugly tattoo for me to learn how to Conjure Fiendfyre," Draco spits out, and everyone shudders for a moment. "There's no way that was a routine wild magic fit. She's _11_."

"I had to sedate her," Tabitha tells them remorsefully. Draco clucks disapprovingly but nods at her to go on. "She was hysterical. I could feel the room getting hotter, too, like she was about to Conjure more. Something isn't right."

"Well, obviously," Corner says, and then at Draco's look, he quiets and puts his hands up. "Right. I'm going to Floo call Pomfrey and ask for a more thorough rundown of her pre-admittance symptoms. This could be a really strong case of dragon pox—"

"In what universe?" Ginny demands.

"Fever, hypertension and severe agitation _are _indicative of that diagnosis," Tabitha puts in diplomatically. "But she has no other symptoms, and at this stage, they would be showing."

"I'm gonna need some time in the Lab," Draco says thoughtfully. "Tabby, put Whittaker in charge of the floor until Michael gets back. I want you and Ginny to keep a close eye on Miss Baxter—don't sedate her any further, but let her come out of it naturally. When she wakes up, buzz me and sit with her—keep her calm. Ginny, make sure her room is secure and fireproof it as much as you can, just in case. Don't perform _any _magic on her unless absolutely necessary."

"What about me?" Harry asks as Tabitha and Ginny nod and hurry off to do as Draco says. He pauses a moment and considers Harry thoughtfully, before shaking his head and giving him a quick smile.

"You did well in there, Potter."

Harry snorts. "Of course I did. That wasn't my first experience with Fiendfyre, you know." Draco's face darkens, and Harry curses himself internally and explains, "I mean, on the job. We had an arsonist running around Greater Toronto once. Lost an eyebrow and some hair fighting with him."

"Well, thank you. I don't believe firefighting is supposed to be part of the duties of the volunteer, and you _did_ disobey a direct order—"

"You were in there, there was no way I was gonna leave you!" Harry exclaims, the very thought unnerving. Draco just looks at him for a moment, before turning to leave the ward.

"You can go back to the Abraxas Ward. I highly doubt that anyone will attempt to burn you alive in there."

Draco doesn't return from the Lab by the time Harry's ready to leave for the day, and though he hangs around a bit awkwardly, Ginny shoos him off and tells him to get a life. "It's a slippery slope, staying after shifts. This place is like a black hole sometimes," she tells him tiredly, casting worried glances at Tabitha and Michael, who are conferring about Iris Baxter again.

When Harry returns the next morning, he can tell right away that Draco hadn't gone home at all—he looks rumpled, uncharacteristically messy and tousled. His face looks pink from cleaning charms and he's sitting at Ginny's desk, frantically going through patient charts. When he turns around, Harry can see that there are tufts of his hair sticking up, as if he'd been running his fingers through it all night. In spite of his concern, he can't help but smile a little.

"Did you get any sleep?" Draco rolls his eyes and waves at him dismissively.

"Oh no, not you too. Save it, I've already heard the lecture from Ginny this morning. I've pulled much, much worse shifts than this without breaking a sweat." He pushes a hand in his hair again, and Harry twitches with the urge to straighten out the tufts. "Go on, you're back in Abraxas."

"No."

"No? Perhaps you misunderstood my inflection, Potter—that wasn't a question."

"I want to talk to Iris Baxter again."

Draco stares at him. "Absolutely not."

"Why? I—want to apologize, Draco, I obviously did something to set her off, and she must feel right awful now, I have to try and make things—"

"No. Stop it." When Harry glares at him, Draco sighs and fixes him with a level gaze. "Dammit, Potter. Don't do this. Look, what happened in there—it wasn't your fault. I'm not sure what it is yet, but I do know that there is _something _wrong with her that's making those magical reactions happen, there are irregularities with her blood that I'm looking at, and I'm going to figure this out, don't worry. And, look, don't worry about her state of mind—Tabitha and I have been taking turns sitting with her, and there haven't been any more incidents. Her parents are on their way—"

"Why won't you let me in there?" Harry cuts in, strangely hurt and unable to keep from showing it. He's not used to stepping out of something he's already involved in and letting the reigns go completely—he feels like he's abandoning Iris if he doesn't do _something_.

"You're a liability, if something happens to you—"

"You don't have to worry about me." He smiles a bit, slightly amused, but drops it quickly when Draco's eyes go cold.

"How do you think it will look for me if I let the Boy Who Lived get barbecued on my floor?"

Stung, Harry nods a bit dejectedly and turns to go to the Abraxas Ward, telling himself internally that he'll lay low for now but try to sneak in later. He ignores the hurtful echoes of Draco's cold words and immerses himself in card games and tall tales with the old folks.

"Women problems, love?" asks Mrs. Aldridge, her wrinkly face cheerful and lascivious as she winks at him. Harry suppresses a shudder and tries for a grin.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Oh, a handsome thing like you should have his pick of the lot!"

"You'd think so, but no, not really." _The guy I want is more complicated than any woman I've ever known, and he barely tolerates me_ is what he refrains from saying, because he already looks perfectly pathetic next to all these energetic, driven witches and wizards. He can't help but look at their lives wistfully, and wonder what's so wrong with him that he's lost the drive at 30 that they've kept well into their 80's and 90's and beyond.

Things are tense around the whole floor that day, even though it only reaches the Abraxas Ward in the expressions and dispositions of the nurses and Healers that pop in to check on the patients. Harry finds himself constantly straining his ears for news or even gossip concerning the situation in Derwent, but for once, the staff is rather hushed about it. He makes more trips than normal out into the other wards, and doesn't manage to hear anything until lunch.

When heading towards Station One to meet Ginny, he sees Draco, Corner and Tabitha in another one of their huddles, talking quietly and tensely with each other, Corner much more agitated than the rest. As Harry passes, he catches the end of Corner's rough, spat out words: "—is a _danger _to the people who work on this floor, and I can't believe you would jeopardize the safety of your staff for the sake of one psychotic little—"

"Michael, please," Tabitha tries, but Harry jumps into the conversation before she can fully smooth things over, angry beyond sense.

"She's a _little girl_, Corner! You can't seriously be _blaming _her for all this?"

Corner glares at him. "She set her own chart on fire, while it was in my hands! Burnt off all the hair on my arms—"

"Oh boo fucking hoo, she nearly incinerated me and Draco yesterday and you don't see us complaining!"

"—and I fail to see how this is any of your business, Potter—"

"Enough!" Draco says sharply, with enough warning in his voice to cut off all protests. Harry's too angry to be properly turned on by it this time, and he glares at him until Draco gives him a small nod and speaks again. "Potter's right—our priority is with the patient, and making the patient feel safe and comfortable—"

"She needs to be given a dampener," Corner insists; Harry hopes Draco _destroys _him for interrupting, but he only tightens his jaw and lets Corner present his case. "She's a danger to us all while she has the full extent of her magical abilities."

"Look," Draco starts, and Harry notes the tired lines in his face and his still-ruffled hair. "I'm just not comfortable giving an 11-year-old a magical dampener—she's not grown into her magic yet, and I won't be responsible for stunting her magical growth."

"We won't give her a strong one," Corner reasons, and he suddenly sounds patient again, and perfectly level-headed. Harry remembers Draco and Ginny telling him that Corner is one of the best Healers in the hospital, and he knows that normally they get on quite well.

"It could be for her own safety as well, Draco," Tabitha chimes in, and Draco looks at her closely and must read something good in her face, because he nods again and sighs heavily.

"Okay. Fine, you're right. Just—you have to wait for the parents' permission anyway, so either Owl them or wait for them to get here. Tabitha, I want you talk to the parents but Michael, you administer. Do not go above a level 3—"

"But—"

"_Level 3_," Draco insists harshly, and Corner bites his lip but nods resolutely. "I'm going back to the Lab, just keep an eye on things for a while—"

"No, it's time for lunch," Harry interrupts, and all three Healers turn to glare at him.

"I haven't got time for lunch, I'll grab something later. You two can go," he says to the other Healers, and then he turns fully to Harry. "I apologize for this morning, I was needlessly rude to you, and you just wanted to help. You can visit with Iris after the dampener has been administered."

"Right, thanks, that's great, but that doesn't solve the issue of lunch." Harry fixes Draco with his best immovable, determined stare, and of course it does bugger all against him.

"One mother hen is sodding _enough_, I don't need this today. Just go, complain about me with Ginny. You'll both have lots to talk about. Add Zach and it'll be a fun, _Draco Malfoy is an irritating prat_ party. Have a jolly good time on me." Even his rants seem to lack steam, and Harry feels more worry push up inside of him.

"But—"

"I'll call for you at Station One when your time to see Iris comes. Enjoy your lunch." And with that, he sweeps away, leaving Harry to wistfully remember the pre-Canada days, when he'd been much better at getting Draco to do what he wants.

Lunch with Ginny is subdued, and though he ribs on Draco a little, it's not as fun when she seems too tired and worried to join in much. Also notably absent is Zacharias, who, now that Harry thinks of it, has been extremely scarce around the floor lately. He'd thought Zach was avoiding Draco, for whatever reason, but he also seems to avoiding Harry, and he asks Ginny about it.

"Oh, him. He's such a freak sometimes—I don't see any reason he has to avoid _you. _I don't know why he's avoiding Draco, either—you think he'd be happy that the Luna thing blew up, but instead he's moping about worse than ever."

"Why would he be happy? Luna's still with Sparrow, isn't she?"

Ginny looks at him oddly. "Oh, don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Harry returns the odd look with one of his own. "Ginny. This is me you're talking to. It's highly probable that I haven't noticed something. Explain, please."

She cracks a grin and rolls her eyes. "Zach has a thing for Draco, of course. What did you think all that pigtail-pulling was about?"

He takes a minute to let that sink in, knowing he's wearing his _baffled simpleton face_, as Draco likes to call it. "No. _Really_? I thought he had a thing for Luna!"

Ginny scoffs. "Of course not. No, it's been Draco for a few years now." She must read something queasy and horrified in his face, because she adds, "Nothing's ever come of it, and I'm fairly certain Draco doesn't feel the same way, but yeah. Honestly, one of the widest spread pieces of gossip in the hospital, and you _still _didn't pick up on it. Sometimes I think Draco's right, and you really did suffer some kind of brain damage while you were away."

"But that still doesn't explain anything." Harry frowns, thinking fast. He wonders if Zacharias had found out, somehow, about Harry and Draco's past, or how Harry feels now. "Maybe Luna told him," he wonders out loud, and Ginny looks at him strangely.

"Told him what?"

He starts a bit and realizes he'd just done a stupid thing—Ginny still doesn't know about the situation, and he knows that Draco wants it to stay that way. "Er, you know—maybe she told him to stay away from Draco?"

"Why would she? She's still seeing Sparrow, why would she care? You really don't make any sense sometimes, Harry. Maybe you should ask Luna to do a few head scans for you."

"I don't need any—Ginny! I haven't got any brain damage!"

Ginny chuckles and then starts idly speculating about what Sparrow and Luna must get up together. Harry disgustedly tunes her out and is left with just his own mind, wistfully and lustfully remembering the days when his relationship with Draco had been easy.


	5. Part Five

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language,

**Word Count:** ~7900

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Thanks so much for your reviews! They seriously keep me going, and they're really appreciated. I'm happy to see that people are interested in this, and it's making this whole fic a really fun experience. Enjoy this part; there's a lot more humor here, and some fluffy, shippy bits to keep you guys going, and please let me know what you think of it!

**Part Five**

He's called to Station One just a bit after lunch, and Draco is waiting there for him, tapping his foot impatiently and talking to his Wrackspurt in a low, swift voice. Harry just looks at him for a moment, and for the first time probably ever, can sympathize with Zacharias Smith. What would it be like, he wonders, to work with this man for years, to become his close friend, to be involved in his life, and not be able to have him? Harry's a big ball of nerves from just over six weeks of it.

Draco leads him away, though not into the Derwent Ward—he takes him over to the lifts and waves his wand carelessly, crossing his arms over his chest when the doors don't chime open immediately.

"Aren't we—" Harry starts, but stops when the blond gives him a look. He looks more tired and worried than before, and Harry doesn't need to ask about how it's going in the Lab.

"We're going to see Luna," is all Draco gives him, as the doors open and they step on.

Harry wisely chooses not to ask as they ride up two floors and get out on the fourth.

Spell Damage is considerably darker and gloomier than Bugs. Harry hasn't been on this floor in years, and as he passes through wards at Draco's side, he's glad for it. The floor is much more crowded than Bugs, with about twice the amount of Healers and Mediwizards walking around in lime green robes, speaking urgently to each other and to their Wrackspurts. Nobody looks up when Harry and Draco pass them, except for one Healer, who gives Draco a death glare as he goes by. Harry notes the silver badge on his robes that identifies him as a Healer-in-Charge. Draco rolls his eyes and ignores him.

"Er, why does that guy look like he wants to maim you?" Harry asks as Draco guides him through one ward and into another. He looks over his shoulder to see the Healer still glaring, his silvery beard twitching slightly as his jaw works angrily.

"Oh, him. That's my old boss. He can't stand me, of course."

Yes, that makes sense—Harry wouldn't be able to stand Malfoy working for him for any length of time, either. "You used to work in Spell Damage?"

"Yes, as a junior Healer. Nobody wanted me to—technically I should've been in the Lab, I'm a better pathologist than anything—but I was first in my class and the top Trainee of the year, so they couldn't really refuse me." He eyes Harry up. "I'm sure Ginny told you that most Healers want to work in Spell Damage, right? Well, I did too. I was still a bit of an idiot back then. Thought working here would give me some kind of glory or something." He snorts. "I learned that lesson _fast_."

"Which ward did you work in?"

"It's not here anymore, but at the time it was the ward for end stage magical atrophy patients." His lip curls in disgust. "Basically, the place they left the Squibs to die. I was little more than a hospice nurse. You can imagine how I felt about that. But that's how I started researching the subject, and eventually discovered the correlation between memory and magic. It was a long time after that before I got anybody to listen to me about it." He suddenly grins, bright and big and wonderful, and Harry's heart stutters a bit as it turns on him. "But obviously, I did, eventually. So I won—that's why Healer Spleen hates me."

Draco opens his arms out wide as Harry registers that they're now in the Janus Thickey Ward, and he's standing in front of an office that has a placard that reads _Healer Luna Lovegood, Senior Mind Healer, Spell Damage_. "And here's my inspiration."

He knocks on the door, and when Luna calls out a dreamy, "Come on in," he opens it and leads Harry inside.

Luna's office is, predictably, the brightest spot on the floor. A giant mobile hangs from the ceiling, hanging crystal cutouts of various celestial shapes floating around in midair and catching sunlight, splashing multi-colored light around the room. The walls are painted a pale lavender that looks more appropriate for a young girl's bedroom, and the curtains in the big windows are a bright yellow that seems to match her hair. Two squishy, purple velvet armchairs sit in front of a sprawling desk that's overrun with parchment. Luna sits behind the desk in a purple wing-backed chair, idly doodling on a scrap of parchment as her Wrackspurt does laps around her head.

Harry wonders how Draco can last even a second in this room without mocking it shamelessly, and then realizes that he rarely sees him treat Luna with anything but the utmost respect and delicacy. As it is now, he simply returns her big, bright smile and gestures back at Harry.

"Hello, Luna. Harry needs a companion."

He wonders if Draco's trying to set him up, and wonders if he's trying to set him up with _Luna_, oh God, when Luna smiles brightly at him and waves a bit. "Hi, Harry. I've missed you."

Harry gulps and only just manages not to blurt out, "I'm gay and sort of in love with your ex-boyfriend." He only manages it because Draco cuts in immediately, sounding frustrated.

"You don't have to hide, you know, I'll not let Ginny say anything—"

"I'm not hiding," Luna tells him easily. "I don't wish to make it uncomfortable for you. Ginny has every right to feel protective of you. I appreciate that she does."

"I was yours _first_," he pouts, and the smile Luna gives him is filled to bursting with fondness and affection. For the first time ever, Harry can suddenly picture the two of them in love, and he has to clamp down on a wave of discomfort that courses through him at the thought.

"They're feeding now," she answers, and Harry has no clue what that means and decides they're speaking in code when Draco nods and brightens. "Give Harry a fat one, they are always in the best moods at feeding time."

"Aye aye, love." He starts towards another door in the room, one with a variety of animals painted on it, and pauses for a moment. "Come out with us tonight."

"Draco…"

"No, I'm serious. I'm not gonna let her push you around, it's ridiculous. I'm not uncomfortable, and you shouldn't have to sit home on a Friday night because Ginny's still in protective mother bear mode." He makes a face. "Just, er, don't bring Sparrow."

"Of course not." She beams at them both and Harry can't help but feel a rush of warmth at how open her face looks. _Right_, he decides. _You don't hate Luna. Luna is your friend. _It's a lot easier to remember when she's not touching Draco.

"Come on, Potter. Stop ogling my girl, you're wasting time." Harry flushes red and has to stamp down on the rising jealousy that causes, and Luna must see it, because she gives him a wide, knowing smile and nods at him supportively.

A bit shaken, he follows Draco through the animal door and then stops short when he sees the inside of the room he enters.

It's not so much a room as an extremely large closet. Most of the space is dominated by an enormous cage, and within the cave are what must be dozens of Wrackspurts, in all different sizes and colors, flitting around the cage and picking at overflowing piles of sunflower seeds and raisins.

"Brilliant," Harry breathes out, and Draco grins as his own Wrackspurt lets out a contented little trill and zooms forward to join his brothers and sisters.

"Yes, they are. Terribly intelligent, Wrackspurts are—I think they understand humans better than humans do."

"How did you ever—I mean—I never even believed they were real," he says wistfully, still gazing at the tiny creatures in wonder.

Draco is looking at them, too, with the same kind of fondness and affection that Luna had shown him before. When he speaks, he sounds a bit sad and a bit nostalgic. "Well, Luna believed in me, in my crazy theories and my ridiculous cause and my stubborn conviction that I was _right_. She was the only one, for a very long time. It seemed only fair that I return the favor. And once you start believing in things like that, well…" He reaches a hand out and his Wrackspurt flies immediately into his palm, buzzing softly and nuzzling at his fingers. "That's when you figure out that they've always been right in front of you."

He opens an ornate, wrought-iron door to the cage and reaches his other hand out, letting a few more Wrackspurts come over and sniff him speculatively before zooming off again. One remains, however, and follows the hand out of the cage. He sniffs at Draco's hand a few more times before doing a little turn in the air and then bolting over towards Harry. He lets out a delighted laugh as he feels fuzz collide with his ear and hum softly into it.

"_Right_," says a low voice that seems to float on the creature's soft hums. "_Give him a name, then._" Harry looks, grinning, to see Draco murmuring into his own Wrackspurt, still cupped in one hand.

He thinks about it, shivering a bit at the sensation of Draco's voice drifting into his ear in the softest of whispers, like sleepy pillow talk. "Widget," he pulls out of nowhere, barely thinking of it, and Draco gives him a little glare and gestures at the creature in his palm, indicating he should speak into it.

"_Widget_," Harry tries again, angling his mouth towards the Wrackspurt at his ear.

"_Good_," Draco's voice comes in again. Widget trills and clicks and nuzzles Harry's neck, and he lets out another laugh and nuzzles it back with his cheek.

"_Thank you_," Harry breathes, locking eyes with Draco. The blond returns the stare determinedly for a moment, before nodding and looking away.

"You're welcome," he says directly to Harry. "Come on, let's go see Iris."

They go back into the main office, where Luna gives them goodbye hugs and promises that she'll see them later tonight. As her small arms wrap around him, Harry can't help but feel a rush of gratitude towards Luna—he knows that, for all his jealousy, Luna is a huge part of the reason that Draco is standing here today, successful and proud and surrounded by a great group of friends.

Harry remembers how, when he broke things off with him to try with Ginny, and then when he had left for Canada, he had felt terribly guilty, leaving Draco at a time in his life when he was still fighting an uphill battle to carve out a place for himself in the world. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from leaving, but he'd often thought about it over the years, a strange, sweet remorse that had always been difficult to interpret. As he squeezes her tightly to him and whispers out another, "Thank you," he knows he's not just thanking her for the Wrackspurt. It's something much more important. When they move away from each other, Luna looks at him as if she knows exactly what he's thinking, and she nods ever so slightly, accepting his thanks easily.

"What happened between you guys?" Harry asks Draco quietly as they head back to the lifts. Draco stiffens slightly and Harry knows immediately he's not going to get anything out of him.

"You already know. We had a relationship for three years. Then it just didn't work out. End of story."

"I doubt that. I know you. You don't commit to something for three years and then just let it die out." He looks at Draco resolutely but gently, trying to convey that's he not simply curious—he wants to understand because he truly cares.

He doesn't seem to get that, though. His eyes shutter and his face shuts down, and Harry already misses the happy, carefree moments of the Wrackspurt room. "Don't assume you know anything about me, Potter. We may be sort of friends, now, but you certainly don't know any more about me than you did 10 years ago."

"I'm trying to, though," Harry insists, letting his frustration color his voice.

"Well, stop trying. It's obviously not working. Now, I thought you wanted to visit Miss Baxter?"

"Yes, you know I do."

"Okay, then shut up about me and concentrate. I'm not letting you go in there without any preparation."

By the time they've reached Derwent, Harry has been given a ridiculously long list of things not to do in the presence of Iris Baxter, most of which involves performing magic near her. "I'd take your wand if I wasn't afraid you'd need it," Draco tells him ruefully, and he looks truly apprehensive about the whole thing, so much so that Harry almost feels guilty for insisting on visiting.

"It'll be fine, I can handle it," Harry tries to soothe, but that seems to just piss him off.

"Yes, because it worked out _so well _last time. Whatever, Potter, just try not to up and die in there, killing you would be most upsetting for Iris and would quite possibly hinder her recovery. And use bloody Widget; if she so much as _twitches _oddly…"

"I know, Draco. I've got it." He gives Draco his best can-do grin, and the blond looks as though he'd quite like to punch it off of him.

"Right. So go on, then. I'll be in my office, but buzz anyone you can think of if something happens. Tabby's probably closest, and Zach can Apparate, so keep that in mind."

"I will not need Zacharias Smith to come to my rescue," Harry says sourly. Draco scowls and walks away looking up at the ceiling.

"Merlin, I _know _I'm going to regret this."

The room Iris is in now is smaller, though it shares the underwater décor of the rest of the ward. She looks much better than before; she's sitting up in bed and writing something in a notebook propped on her tray table. She looks up when Harry quietly enters the room and gives him a small, watery smile.

"Hey," he says gently, and her lower lip quivers a bit but she manages a small wave.

"Hello," Iris says shyly. She shuts the book on the tray and gestures mildly at him to come further into the room. "I could, um, use that company now."

Harry smiles at her and moves forward quickly to sit down at the chair beside her bed. "How do you feel?" he asks her. The little girl shrugs and blushes, looking down at her hands.

"B—better, now. Healer Crowley said—she said that my magic was making me sick, and they gave me something so I didn't have too much magic anymore." Her mouth trembles again, and she clenches her small fists. "They—they took my wand."

Harry makes a small, sympathetic noise. "I'm sorry, Iris. They'll give it back, though."

"I—I know, it's just—" Her eyes and her voice quickly fill with tears, and Harry's heart breaks. "My—my daddy got me that wand. He was—he was so proud." She sniffs loudly and looks at Harry. "What's—what's wrong with me?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I don't know. But I promise you that we're doing everything we can to figure it out. Healer Crowley, and Healer Corner, and Healer Malfoy—they're the best Healers in this hospital, and they're all working really hard to help you get better." He reaches out a tentative hand to rest on her shoulder, ignoring the echo of one of Draco's rules ("_Do _not_ touch her, Potter, under any circumstances!_") and gives her a comforting squeeze. "So, what are you writing?"

Iris sniffs again and then runs a hand over her notebook. "Oh. It's just—just a story. I like to write stories." She tries for another watery smile. "A pretty blonde lady came to visit me last night—she told me how her daddy runs a newspaper, it's called the Fibbler or something, and she said that my stories are so good I should work there someday."

"That's brilliant, Iris. And that's a great newspaper, I think it'd be really fun to work there."

"Yeah, I think so, too. She was really nice."

"What's your story about?"

Iris makes a bit of a face. "Oh, just—you know, about all this." She bites her lip. "I'm gonna—gonna give it to my Mum and Daddy when they get here, so—so they know what happened."

"That's a great idea. I bet it'll be nicer for them to read about it all than for you to have to tell them about it." He scrambles mentally, trying to direct the conversation from the fact that the parents aren't even here yet, but it's too late.

"I—I really want my mum. And my daddy. Do you—do you think they're mad at me? I—I mean…" She sounds tearful again, and Harry curses everyone from himself to the girl's parents, who should _be here_, dammit.

"No, Iris, _no_, they're not mad at you, they're on their way right now —"

"But, it's just—they didn't even think I _had _magic, you know. They always thought—I mean at first they thought it—it skipped me. Nobody knew until—until I got my Hogwarts letter, and I—I was so happy I made Mummy's lamps explode…" Her words wobble and break and Harry leans forward to touch her shoulder again, mind racing.

"Iris, did they—did your parents ever, um, try anything, to give you magic?"

Iris frowns and looks at him. "What do you mean? Like—like spells or stuff? No. They were sad, but they didn't—do you think they did this to me?" Her voice gets progressively higher and a soft beeping sound comes from the left of her bed. Harry recognizes the spell pulsing there as the magic meter and realizes that the levels are rising with her agitation, and he quickly backtracks.

"No, no, of course not. Honestly, I was just curious. I knew a boy once who didn't show any magic until one of his family members dropped him out of a window and he bounced." He grins at her, trying to make her laugh, and her eyes widen.

"Ooh, do you mean Professor Longbottom? He and Professor Bones told me that story." She shakes her head. "No, my parents never did anything like that. They said it would be fine if I didn't have magic, but they were real happy when I did."

"See, then of course they're not mad at you. Nobody's mad at you, Iris, we all just want you to feel better."

"I thought you might be mad at me, or Healer Malfoy," she tells him woefully. "I nearly burnt you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, it wasn't your fault. Neither of us are mad. I'm really glad you're feeling better." He points at her notebook, hoping to keep her mind back on a happy track. "Can you read me your story? If you're as good as Luna says, I definitely want to hear it."

She perks up at that, and as the late afternoon fades into evening, she reads him her dramatic rendering of yesterday's events, making him chuckle at her descriptions of her cast of characters: the angry blond Healer, the short bossy nurse, her brave friend Harry. The magic meter remains stable for the rest of the visit, and he doesn't leave until she's apologetically drifting to sleep.

"That potion makes me sleepy," Iris tells him remorsefully, and Harry feels totally awful, remembering what it's like to be 11 and cut off from your magic and your school and your friends. He considers himself lucky that at least he was never ill during his summers with the Dursleys, and knows that must make it ten times worse.

He waits for her soft breathing to fill the room before he leaves, registering the shift change as he drifts out into the hall. He finds his friends at their usual spots by Station One: Draco scribbling madly on parchment, half a dozen old patient records stacked beside him, while Ginny is alternately berating him for continuing to work and glaring at Luna, who is watching them both with an amused smile.

"I think we should look at the parents," Harry tells Draco, who looks up and squints at him vaguely for a moment before his thoughts catch up.

"Why? I mean, yes, it's pissing me off too that they're not here yet, I really can't understand it—if that was my kid in there—" He breaks off, grimacing, and rubs at his eyes with two fists tiredly before continuing. "But that doesn't mean they're doing anything more nefarious than being neglectful parents."

"They're purebloods, though," Ginny points out. "It _is _a little odd that they're not here yet. Purebloods tend to be a bit nuts about their kids. I mean, you just proved it—and, as much as I hate to admit it, if it were _you _in there, your parents would have leveled the hospital already trying to get to you. Mine as well."

"And it's not just that," Harry adds. "Iris told me that it took her a very long time to show signs of magic—they always thought she was a Squib. I'm thinking they may have tried to give her a magical boost before Hogwarts and took it too far."

Draco thinks about it. "In that case, we'd have to move her up to Spell Damage, and there's no way I'm letting her get shuffled about up there—they'd lock her away like a zoo animal. Right, I'll think about it, but Potter, keep these suspicions to yourself. Corner will jump on any chance he can to get her off this floor, with or without my say-so. The parents will supposedly be here tomorrow morning; I'll have a talk with them then."

He sighs and looks back down at the parchment, and Ginny immediately slaps him on the back of his head. He yelps and glares at her.

"Oh no you don't, Draco Malfoy. You are getting up and taking off those robes and coming home with me and showering and then going out with us. I'm not gonna let you spend another night in this place."

"Ginny's right, Draco," Luna tells him, and for a moment she actually looks stern, something Harry had never seen from her before. "You smell like Scouring charms. Please take a shower."

Draco sets his jaw but stands up obediently, his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child. Harry can't help but grin at the picture he makes—grumpy and tired and fighting a losing battle. So unMalfoyish that it's adorable.

"Fine. Let's get this over with, then." He lets Ginny take his arm and tug him toward the lifts, muttering testily all the way as she just laughs at him. Harry turns to Luna and, grinning, holds out an arm. "Shall we, Madame?"

"Yes, Harry, lead the way."

* * *

An hour later, following quick stops in Luna's office and Harry's borrowed flat, he and Luna make their way into The Thundering Thestral, where Ron, Pansy and Daphne are already at a table. Pansy and Daphne immediately glare at Luna as she nears them, though she doesn't seem to notice. Ron grins big at her and kisses her on the cheek.

"Way to go, Lovegood," Ron tells her, giving her two thumbs up. "I think the only thing worse than going after a Trainee would be going after Harry. If you _really _want to piss Malfoy off, you and I can go in the back and—"

"Don't finish that sentence if you value your balls, Ronald," Pansy cuts him off coldly, and he stops and zips his lips but winks lecherously at Luna.

"How are you feeling, Daphne?" Luna asks politely. Daphne keeps glaring.

"Pregnant," she snaps shortly, and a long, awkward pause descends over the table as Luna quits trying. Harry feels a twinge of annoyance at the Slytherin girls and sits up straighter in his seat.

"Stop being catty to Luna," Harry tells them both firmly. The twin glares turn on him, and he has to physically force himself not to flinch, wondering if Ron will have his back in a fight against his future bride and her maid of honor. "She didn't do anything wrong, she's a single woman and she's free to—to _whatever _with whoever she wants."

"Whomever," Luna corrects lightly, and she smiles gratefully at him. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome, Luna."

His little speech, of course, does nothing to Pansy and Daphne, though, and only causes them to frostily ignore the rest of the table. Shrugging unconcernedly, Ron strikes up a conversation about Quidditch with Harry and Luna and the three of them pass the time perfectly content to be ignored.

Melody the waitress takes their orders, wisely overlooking Harry's presence this time. Draco and Ginny show up shortly after with Blaise and Goyle trailing after them, and though the group looks rather anemic without the presence of Neville, Hermione, Zacharias, and Theo, they all fit at the table much better.

"Why so glum, Goyle?" Ron asks the bulky man amiably. Goyle is, indeed, looking morose, leaning his cheek on one fist and sighing into his Firewhiskey.

"He misses Granger, of course," Pansy snaps, apparently lifting her shun on her fiancé to admonish him. She sniffs. "Not that I understand _that _logic."

"Hey!" Ginny, Harry and Ron all protest defensively, and Blaise grins and takes a healthy swig of his drink, eyes sparkling merrily.

"Ah, so it's gonna be one of _those _nights. Hm, shall we have a Gryffindor-Slytherin duel, or just skip right to the makeup sex?"

"Ew!" chorus Ginny and Daphne. Ginny shudders explosively. "As if I would ever sleep with _any _of you people." She looks at Harry accusingly, as if he's propositioning her right now. "_Again_."

"Calm down, Ginny, no one's offering," Draco says mildly. Like Goyle, he's propped his face up on a fist, though he looks more like he's falling asleep in his drink rather than crying into it.

"I might be," Blaise throws out, and then he yelps when both Ginny and Ron hex him.

"I don't believe in dating within the group," she tells them all, looking at Draco and Luna pointedly. "It feels, I don't know, incestuous. I know way too much about you guys to ever go there."

"Well," Draco says thoughtfully. "Considering this table looks like the Draco Malfoy Broken Hearts Club, I obviously disagree with you."

Pansy looks delighted for the first time that night. She shoots her hand up in the air. "Ooh. I call President!"

"Bollocks," says Blaise in fake indignation. "_I _wanted President. Fine, I'll be Treasurer."

"I call Secretary," Daphne puts in gleefully, and Draco rolls his eyes at her.

"Are you joking? We dated for a week—we were seven! You broke up with me because I picked you roses from my garden instead of buying them!"

"Well of course I did," Daphne sniffs. "A Greengrass would never accept such a cheap gift from a suitor. I can't believe your mother _let you_."

"Seven! I was seven!"

"So I suppose that just leaves Vice President for me?" Luna asks curiously, and Ron blanches a bit.

"Malfoy," he says, though he sounds a little impressed. "You've slept with entirely too many of your friends."

And, without thinking, or maybe thinking through the few drinks he's already put away, Harry puts in eagerly, "So what does that make me, then?"

Another silence descends on the table—this one frozen and shocked, as Harry's mind catches up with his tongue and he realizes what he'd just done, and everyone else processes his words. Draco groans and thunks his head down hard on the table, and Goyle actually lifts his face from his hand to stare at Harry for the first time.

More stunned silence, before Draco breaks it to say into the table, "Chief Idiot-in-Charge, Potter. There's your title. You can have it for free."

"Thanks," Harry says weakly, and the table unfreezes.

"_Explain_," Ginny demands harshly, as Pansy cackles gleefully and Ron chokes on saliva.

"I _knew _it!" Pansy exclaims. "I knew you were talking about Draco that day at the hospital—oh my goodness, Potter, you _fool_, you are _awful _at keeping secrets! I love it!" She looks at Ron, who is turning an alarming shade of red. "Oh dear, Ron, you know I hate it when you go that color, it clashes terribly with your hair. Buck up, sweetheart, it's not that big of a deal."

"EXPLAIN," Ginny thunders, and Harry shrinks back from her and looks at Draco helplessly. He's still face down against the table.

"Er," Harry tries. "We, um—we—"

"We fucked," Draco says abruptly, coldly. He looks up, and there's a red mark on his forehead from the table, and now is _not _the time to find that adorable, Potter, oh my God.

"You fucked," Daphne says skeptically, eyeing the two of them shrewdly.

"Yes. A very, very, _very _long time ago. We were practically different people then," Draco tells them all, his voice strained with the effort of sounding casual.

"Just once?" Ginny asks quietly. Her eyes are flicking back and forth rapidly, too.

"No," Harry admits at the same time Draco spits out, "Yes."

An awkward pause, and then Blaise asks, sounding neither gleeful or suspicious or demanding or disgusted but just mildly amused, "For how long?"

"_When_?" Ron finally asks shrilly, seeming to channel Hermione for a minute.

"It started in NEWT year," Harry says quietly, trying not to be hurt by Draco's continuous groans. "We, um, had a fight, and then I—"

"Potter _mauled _me," Draco insists, trying and failing to sound truly disgusted about it. Harry shrugs and nods sheepishly.

"And then it, uh, continued past that year and, um, a few months beyond." He sighs. "About a year and a half."

"Potter, for fuck's sake, just give them _more _ammunition, why don't you—"

"Wait a minute," Ginny cuts in. "A few months after NEWT year—HARRY DID YOU CHEAT ON ME?"

"No!" Harry cries out as all the other patrons of the pub start to stare at their table. "No, no, it was—was before you, um, right before you—"

"So you dumped Draco to play house with the Weaselette?" Pansy asks him waspishly, suddenly looking not-so-gleeful. Draco glares at her.

"He did _not _dump me, we were not in a relationship—it was prolonged fucking, an enemies-with-benefits type of deal."

"Oh sod off, Draco," Daphne snaps. "A year and a half is the second-longest you've ever been with _anyone_, behind Luna. Are you going to call _that _prolonged fucking, too?"

"That was different," Draco insists. "Everyone knew about that, and we—fuck—we actually liked each other! Potter and I hated each other throughout."

"Well, not quite," Harry puts in, but stops abruptly when Draco glares fiercely at him.

"Yes. We did. It was—it was just sex. There were lots of bruises." He makes a face. "Luna never gave me bruises."

"Not much," Luna says serenely, and everyone stares at her in horror for a little bit while Draco goes wonderfully pink and Harry stamps down on his ridiculous jealousy for the thousandth time.

"Still," he continues resolutely, glaring at all of his friends. "It—it wasn't. Don't think of it like it was some epic romance. It's in the past. We've both moved on."

_We have? _Harry thinks, but bites on his tongue to keep it from betraying him and Draco again. Ginny is staring only at him, now, and Harry can see the moment something clicks in her head—her eyes widen and her lips part and her face is flooded with a mix of wonder and sympathy, awful, awful _pity _that makes Harry grit his teeth and shake his head minutely at her.

"Right," Harry says dully. "It's in the past." Pansy and Daphne seem to buy that as much as Ginny does, and they're looking at him with renewed interest—guarded and wary, but not as unpleasant as before. And of course Luna knows—Harry suspects that she always has. Ron looks a bit relieved, though, and so does Draco, and Goyle and Blaise seem to have stopped concerning themselves with it, but he can tell that the girls are going to be a problem.

"Oh man," Ron suddenly chuckles. "Thank Merlin Zach wasn't here tonight—he's going to _hate _you, Harry."

"I'm pretty sure he already knows," Draco says tiredly. Off Harry's questioning look, he explains, "He overheard us that day in my office, after the Luna and Sparrow thing. That's why he's been so—you know." He sighs wearily and reaches desperately for his drink. "Honestly, Potter, it's like you just live to make my life difficult. I haven't the time to deal with _him _on top of everything else."

"Oh yes, it's such a hardship to have a Hufflepuff be in love with you." Ginny suddenly looks furious with him. "Really, Draco, you could be a little more sensitive. That man is beyond reason."

"Shut it, Weasley, I am _trying _to be sensitive. You're absolutely right, he _won't _listen to reason," Draco whines. He finishes his drink and stands up abruptly. "Come on, I need to get out of here and go someplace louder and with better booze."

"Oh, joy," Pansy intones, though she gets up, too. "Fun, fun, fun, it's gonna be a drunken Draco night."

"Well, we do like alliteration, don't we dear?" Draco drawls, taking her arm. "Let's _go_, people, I can still hear myself thinking!"

* * *

It is, indeed, a drunken Draco night—they make their way quickly back to The Slinky Serpent and Draco immediately challenges Blaise to match his shots. Armed with even more alcohol, the two of them and Luna make their way out onto the dance floor, Goyle trailing morosely behind them, leaving Harry surrounded by the girls and Ron, who is still fairly oblivious to the shrewd looks they're all giving Harry.

"Don't," Harry starts weakly, but he should know better—Ginny is not to be stopped, especially not with Pansy and Daphne backing her up.

"Does he know?" she asks as quietly as she can over the thumping music of the club. Harry sighs heavily. Ron blinks, perplexed.

"Does who know what?"

"Quiet, Ronald," Pansy snaps, zeroing in on Harry's reluctant answer. "Does Draco know you're in love with him?"

"What!" Ron yelps, and Daphne smacks him hard on the arm.

"I don't think he does," Daphne answers for him. "I mean, this is _Draco_. It took him forever to figure out about Zach. And remember how he was with Luna at first? He waited for _her _to ask _him _out, which goes against just about every pureblood statute he'd ever believed in, but it was all because he was too bloody obtuse to realize how crazy she was about him."

"You're right," Pansy says knowledgably. She goes back to eyeing Harry. "So what are you going to do about it, Scarhead?"

"Um," Harry says, not sure what Pansy's looking for here. He can't tell if he's about to get the _touch my best friend and perish _speech or the _get your head out of your arse and do something _speech, and doesn't want to guess for fear of dismemberment.

"Merlin's balls," Ron is whispering darkly. "Harry. And. Malfoy. Harry and _Malfoy_. I don't—fuck—would I be a big hypocrite if I really wanted to sick up a little?" He faces Pansy's look with all the bravery of a kitten. "Pans, I'm sorry, but this is just—bloody fuck, you can't just expect me—"

"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you, Ron," Harry puts in, mostly unnecessarily, because Ron just shakes his head, still looking dazed.

"No, see, I get _that_, at least. I mean, it was before Pansy, right, I'd have probably beat the snot out of both you at the time. But…_Malfoy._" He shudders, and then says in a small voice, "You know. I think the most sickening part is that it sort of…makes sense. Gah!" He leans down to bury his face in Pansy's neck, whimpering a bit. "Hold me, Pansy."

"Go to hell," she says sweetly, but she doesn't dislodge him, which is more than Harry expected from her. "Seriously, Potter, you need a game plan here."

"Oh yes," Daphne says, rubbing her hands together. "A plan of _seduction_."

"Wait," Harry says slowly. "What?"

"No, no," Ginny cuts in quickly, and Harry shoots her a grateful look. "Harry isn't going to _seduce _Draco. He's going to _woo _him."

Harry stares at her as Pansy and Daphne both snort in disgust. "Gryffindors," Pansy scoffs. "Slytherins aren't wooed, Weasley. They're _seduced_. Draco will laugh at him if he tries to woo him."

"He'll probably laugh anyway," Ginny points out reasonably. Pansy thinks about it, then nods.

"Touché."

"So, wait a sec. Why is Harry wooing and/or seducing Malfoy?" Ron asks Pansy's neck. Pansy pets him gently and then shushes him again.

"Because he's in love with him," Daphne answers helpfully, and Harry groans and wonders if thunking his head down on the bar will be as helpful as Draco's table-thunking technique. Perhaps if he does it hard enough, he'll knock himself out.

"We don't have to keep _saying _that," Harry mumbles sort of miserably.

"Don't worry, Harry," Ginny soothes. "We're going to help you. We're very good at this, I promise. We got Ron and Pansy together, didn't we? And Theo and Daphne _back _together. And we finally convinced Gregory to pluck up the courage to approach Hermione. This will be cake compared to that."

"I thought you didn't believe in dating within the group."

Ginny shrugs. "Yes, exactly. _I _don't believe in it, which means I'll never do it. But it could work out for you, I think."

"He doesn't even want—" Harry breaks off and swallows hard, thinking of Draco hiding desperately behind Luna, his insistence on 'been there, done that'. The optimistic part of him wants to think that Draco's just scared, but the insecure part is louder and thinks that nothing he can do or say will get Draco past that.

"That's just how Draco is," Pansy tells him, sounding softer suddenly. He looks at her and is surprised to find understanding in her gaze. "He used to make me cry all the time, before I figured him out. I thought—Draco as a boyfriend would be easier, and less prickly, and more, I don't know, open. But he's not, especially not at first. It's hard for him—that's not to say he incapable, it's just very difficult. I think the only person he's ever let loose like that with is Luna. And we all know how _that _turned out."

Everyone shares a dark look, and Harry leans in to them. "How _did _it turn out?"

Pansy immediately gets back to glaring. "_That's _not a story for tonight, Potter. Mind your own business."

Too wrung out to argue, he puts his hands up and lets the girls plot amongst themselves, turning to Ron to find a bit of perspective.

His best friend is wonderfully sympathetic and understanding, of course. "Hermione is going to _destroy _you when she finds out you never told her."

Harry sighs big. "Yes. Thanks, Ron."

"Just telling it like it is, mate." He gives him a hearty pat on the back. "Got yourself in a bit of a pickle, then, huh? Don't worry, the girls will sort you out, they _are _pretty good at this. Though I can't tell you how much of a chance you've got with Malfoy—he still seems pretty hung up on Luna—"

"He's not," Harry says immediately, a bit harshly. Ron eyes him with a skepticism that is just _entirely _too Slytherin to look right on him. "I, um. I asked him, we talked about it." He blushes and ducks his head. "I offered to beat up Sparrow for him."

Ron laughs and clinks his beer to Harry's. "See, there, classic Gryffindor seduction technique! You might not even need the girls' help." He takes a thoughtful sip of beer and seems to ponder for a moment. "Zacharias is gonna be a problem, though. He's used to having competition, I guess, but competition like _you_? He's obviously already threatened."

"He hasn't even spoken to me since he found out. I mean, I never even _knew _how he felt about Draco—you wouldn't think it, to look at them, would you?"

"Nah, you would. It's all there. Reminds me a bit of how the two of you were in Hogwarts with each other, except with a lot more yearning." He looks at Harry closely. "Please tell me there was no yearning at Hogwarts, Harry."

"There was no yearning. At least, um, not until NEWT year. And I didn't realize it was yearning at the time." He sighs again and looks at Draco on the dance floor, dancing very aggressively and leaning heavily on Goyle. "There's definitely yearning now, though."

"Poor Harry. I wouldn't have gotten it back then—he was a right prat until Luna, you know, really needed a couple of good kicks—but since then? I get it. He's a decent enough bloke. Still a prat but now he's like a prat with _layers_. With the, you know, the Healing thing and the saving people thing and all his do-gooder research and whatnot. Plus his family's not even that bad anymore—his mum basically planned the whole wedding, and old Lucius gave us like a week's worth of good press in the Quibbler after the engagement—that really helped with Mum. So, y'know…" He takes a firm gulp of beer and raises his bottle in a quick salute. "Good choice, I suppose." He grins wide. "And now if he breaks your heart, I can kick his arse and Pansy can't say _anything_. Best friend amnesty, you know."

Harry returns his grin and gives Ron a quick, one-armed hug. "Thanks, Ron. You're the best mate a bloke could ask for, you know that?"

Ron shrugs and looks pleased with himself. "I try."

As the night wears on, Harry gets an awful idea and has to throw back another shot of Firewhiskey just to consider doing it. He does, though, and soon he's pushing his way through the crush of club patrons, ignoring the girls' whispered hisses: "_No_, Harry, this isn't part of The Plan! Abort, abort!" He draws courage from Ron's, "Get 'em, tiger!" and smiles when he hears one of the girls slap him again.

Draco is barely moving anymore—he is flushed and sweating and swaying slightly up against Goyle, who looks steadfast but bored. His eyes widen when Harry nears and Draco mumbles against his neck, "No, Greg, don' wanna get up yet," and Harry smiles and moves next to them.

"May I?" he asks quietly, and Goyle eyes him up and down but then nods slowly, unwrapping Draco's arms from his shoulders and dropping them into Harry's hands.

"Greg," Draco whines, and Harry looks down at his pink face with fondness. Next to them, Luna and Blaise have stopped spinning each other wildly and are watching with fascination, and Harry drapes Draco's arms around his neck and wraps his own arms around his waist.

"Hi Draco," he says softly, and it's a testament to how drunk he is that he doesn't snap or recoil or do anything other than look up and finally register that it's Harry holding him up now.

"Oh," says Draco, or rather he slurs. "It's you." But he doesn't say anything other than that, instead drops his head onto Harry's shoulder and lets himself be held.

"I think you should call it a night soon," Harry tells him honestly, even though he sort of wants Draco to stay soft and cuddly and limp in his arms forever and ever, if possible. Draco snorts into his skin and even that is somehow hot—the feel of his breath on his neck sets his whole body tingling, and he'd fight down on his own arousal if he didn't feel something suspiciously hard around his dance partner's groin.

"Mm," Draco mutters, and somehow he tightens his hold on Harry and snuggles in more, and Harry could die very happily right now and wouldn't even complain about it. They sway entirely too slowly to club music, and whatever, Draco will hate himself and Harry in the morning but for right now, it's almost as if Draco is his.

The moment passes when Draco seems to let out a snore, and Blaise and Luna start laughing at them openly. Harry sighs and shrugs. "I tried," he tells them, and Luna nods at him, placing a soothing hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm gonna take him home now," she says softly, and Harry reluctantly relinquishes his hold and lets Luna and Blaise prop Draco up in between them. They all shuffle over to say their goodbyes, and Harry can't help but watch the blond duo leave, even as his friends all give him looks that tell him they know exactly how pathetic he is.

"Don't worry, Harry," Ginny says again, in that voice that makes Harry frightened. "We're gonna fix it all up. It'll be brilliant."

"Sure," Harry mopes, ready to go home and dream and probably wank about the feeling of Draco's body all up against his.

"Oh, God," Blaise says. "The mooning is going to make me sick. That has got to go."

"Leave off, mooning is Harry's way," Ron defends him valiantly. Harry gives him a grateful grin.

"Mooning is cute," Ginny sighs wistfully. "I wish he'd mooned a little more for me when we dated. Though I guess I know now why he didn't."

"Mooning will be about as effective as wooing," Pansy tells them matter-of-factly. "I'm telling you, you need a more direct approach. Subtle, but not too subtle. A bit of aggression won't hurt, either."

"Well, that worked last time, didn't it?" Ron smiles widely and looks thoroughly pleased with his own logic. "See, Harry, just punch him in the face and take it from there. He may be a decent bloke but don't worry, he can't keep that mouth shut, he'll say something at some point that'll make you want to punch him."

"He said about thirty things just today," Pansy agrees, then scowls. "Not that I condone you punching my best friend, of course."

"Of course," Harry sighs, cursing his own big mouth for the millionth time that night. He has a feeling that everyone knowing about the situation isn't going to make it any easier.


	6. Part Six

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, a bit of violence

**Word Count:** ~10000

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Yay, your reviews make me happy! Thanks so much for letting me know what you think of this, I really appreciate it. I hope you guys enjoy this part; for some reason, it's sort of disproportionately long, it just worked out that when I was breaking this apart. Sorry about that. But please drop me a line about how you like or dislike it, hee, I'd love to hear more from you.

**Part Six**

Things don't seem easier Monday morning when, upon being directed to the Abraxas Ward for the morning, Harry immediately spots Draco crashed out across an empty bed amongst the Forget-Me-Not patients, fast asleep and drooling and covered in a knitted afghan that is definitely not hospital issue.

"Shh," Mrs. Aldridge tells him, looking up from her knitting as Harry nears Draco's bed. "Poor dear passed out in the middle of a stat check. I think he's been here since Saturday morning."

"Dammit," Harry groans, watching the rise and fall of Draco's chest under the afghan. "He's going to make himself sick."

"That lovely redheaded nurse left some potions for him for when he wakes up." She indicates three different sized bottles sitting on the hanging tray by his bed. "But I'd let him sleep for a while anyway, he looks like he needs it."

"He'll kill me for letting him stay asleep," Harry says, but he makes no moves to wake up, just watches over him for a few more minutes before turning to the older woman. "Need me to hold the yarn?"

They pass most of the morning in companionable quiet, only broken later, when Zacharias suddenly appears in the ward. It's the first time Harry's seen him in days, and the first time in Abraxas ever—he immediately gets frightened.

"What are you doing here? Nobody's dying!" he whispers furiously. Unfortunately, a few older wizards catch the word 'dying' and immediately react.

"Dying? Who's dying?"

"I'm not dying! Am I dying, Harry?"

"You'd tell me if I was dying, wouldn't you, Harry?"

"Shut up!" Harry whisper-yells. "You'll wake him!" Draco is stirring on the bed, groaning a little, and Harry hurries over to make sure he's properly tucked in under the afghan.

"I have to wake him anyway," Zacharias says, and Harry glares at him.

"Oh, so you're speaking to him, now?"

To his surprise, the Mediwizard blushes a little and looks away. "Er, yeah. We had a talk." He rubs at the back of his neck and rolls his eyes. "And by talk I mean he threatened my job and my life if I didn't stop acting like an idiot and get over myself." He grins widely. "He also told me there's nothing whatsoever happening between you two, so. Ha."

"Not _yet_," Harry can't help but retort peevishly. A few patients chime in behind him.

"Go Harry!"

"Take that, Blondie!"

Zacharias gives them all disbelieving, appalled looks and then shakes his head. "Look, there's a situation he needs to be made aware of. I've _got _to wake him, and make sure he takes those potions." His grin turns into a smirk. "I'll be sure to let him know it was _you _who let him sleep that long, though. I'm sure he'll be most appreciative."

Harry immediately grabs hold of the urge to punch Zacharias in his stupid face and wrangles it until it's just a passing thought.

"Oh go ahead, Smith. I suppose you need all the brownie points you can get, right?"

"Oooh," chorus the old folks.

Zacharias' face goes hard and angry, and he comes over and shakes Draco rather roughly by the shoulder. Harry growls and pushes down _hard _on his violent urges. _I will not punch him in the face. He is not worth any bruised knuckles._

When Draco wakes, he is predictably cross with everybody for letting him sleep, and he only takes the potions that Harry and Zacharias shove at him because Mrs. Aldridge manages to guilt him into it. Minutes after he's downed the last one he seems to regain a bit of color and he leaves the ward swiftly, ignoring Harry and Zach following him.

"Oh, good," Ginny says when she sees them coming. "You're up. You need to Floo to Hogwarts."

Draco squints at her. "Whatever for?"

"There's another patient in the Hospital Wing that we think is like Iris; sodding Corner told Pomfrey to keep him there until she knew more about his symptoms, but I knew you wouldn't like that—"

"Right. Pencil me in for hexing him this afternoon, Gin, I'm bloody sick of him and his treating these patients like wild, dangerous animals. Oh, and hell—_accio _level 3dampener!" A closet door opens and a potion comes zooming out and into his outstretched hand. "I—" He breaks off, suddenly looking nauseous, and then looks around at Harry. "Potter. I suppose you've got to come, then."

"What?" Zacharias demands. "Why?"

"Because a. Potter has a bit of experience with these patients already, and b. he's actually been doing his job lately instead of throwing insensible temper tantrums, and c. 90 percent of the staff at Hogwarts hates me and they'll throw themselves at his feet. Pick one or all of the above, I don't really give a shit, Smith."

Smith splutters indignantly for a few moments, giving Draco time to turn his back and Harry to stick his tongue out at him. Ginny lets out a shrill giggle that she tries to clamp down on when Draco looks at her.

"We'll use the Floo in my office. Let's go."

Harry lets Draco get a few steps ahead of him before he says quietly, "So. Ha."

"POTTER."

"Coming!" And with one last wicked grin at Zacharias, he follows after the blond swiftly.

"I would appreciate—" Draco starts tiredly once inside the office. Harry takes a moment to feel guilty about Zacharias, remembering Draco's complaints about him that Friday night.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I was just—"

"Well, do not _just_ anymore. The last thing I need right now is for you and Zach to get into some kind of _pissing _contest over me, of all people. You both have zero chances, okay, so just get it out of your head."

"Says the bloke who was hiding behind his ex-girlfriend over me," Harry can't help but point out. Honestly, all of this explicit telling him he doesn't have a chance isn't part of The Plan. Draco is supposed to be going for more subtle ways of shooting him down, like insulting him constantly and threatening various acts of violence. Harry can handle those.

He immediately looks spitting mad, all but hissing with displeasure, and he's pink again and Harry thinks it should be his mission in his life now just to make Draco turn that color, always.

"Look," Draco says slowly, dangerously. "You've got to stop. I am very tired—I'm running on Invigoration Draught and Pepper-Up and pride. I do _not _need your—your sad, Gryffindor attempts at making me your toy again—"

"That's _not _what I'm—"

"Stop it!" Harry sighs but backs off once again, frightened by how frazzled Draco looks. He looks beyond grumpy—he really looks upset, and Harry realizes that it's only going to get worse from here, if there is indeed another patient.

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Let's go."

They step into the Floo without another word to each other, and Harry can't help but remember Friday night and wish he could pull Draco into his arms again.

Headmistress McGonagall is waiting for them by the Floo in Madame Pomfrey's office. Her face is tight and drawn and she looks about as tired as Draco, though she doesn't wear it half as well. Harry can see immediately the way her lip curls in distaste as Draco dusts soot off his robes, and feels a sudden protectiveness rush up inside of him.

He'd known, of course, that Draco isn't exactly well-liked outside of their circle of friends and his floor at St. Mungo's. If anything, people seem to resent the Malfoy family's ability to land on their feet—the Daily Prophet still prints all sorts of inflammatory articles, especially since Lucius is their rival.

For all her evident distrust of him, though, she greets him cordially, if stiffly. "Thank you for coming, Healer Malfoy. Harry, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"Hi, Headmistress," Harry says, giving her a guarded smile and angling his body slightly so that he's standing between her and Draco. She notes this with rapt eyes and her gaze softens ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry our reunion has to happen under such circumstances, Harry. Perhaps you'll join me for a cup of tea in my office later?"

Harry shrugs. "If I'm not needed, sure." Behind him, Draco snorts and elbows him lightly, muttering, "Supposed to be buttering them up, Potter, honestly."

He clears his throat and looks at McGonagall with level, calm eyes. "Thank you for having us, Headmistress. I'd like to examine the patient now, if you'd please."

"Very well. We have him quarantined from the rest of the Infirmary—your Healer Corner told us of the dangers of the last patient…"

"Well, I appreciate the precautions, though I doubt there's a true need for quarantine if the situation is handled properly," Draco answers, a certain level of frost in his voice. Harry remembers how adverse he was to the idea of Iris being sent up to Spell Damage—'locked up like a zoo animal'. "Can you tell me, Headmistress, what House the patient is in?"

McGonagall's lip curls once again. "Gryffindor, though I fail to see the relevance—"

"The last patient was a Hufflepuff," Harry reasons quickly. "So it's a multi-House thing, then, we can rule out House prejudices as a motive."

"No, we can't, not until members of each house have become afflicted," Draco argues.

"You think that someone is _doing this _to my students?" McGonagall asks, appalled. Draco gives her that calm stare again.

"We're not sure of anything right now. The patient, please?"

With an annoyed cluck of her tongue, she leads them out into the main area of the Infirmary, into a small, hastily set-up cubicle area that Harry can see spells pulsing all over and around. Draco starts muttering darkly when he sees all the magic and pulls out his wand, then seems to think better of it and murmurs to Harry, "Take down those wards for me, will you?"

Without a thought, Harry pulls his wand and does it, even as McGonagall lets out a faintly outraged, "Mr. Potter!" He hears Draco explaining that overexposure to magic is extremely dangerous to people with unstable magic levels, and that concentrating so many spells in one area could set off a magical reaction.

Once the wards are down they enter the cubicle, where a boy is shuddering and sweating on a bed while Madame Pomfrey frantically casts spells over him, presumably to calm him. He seems to get more and more agitated with every spell cast, though, and Draco lets out a distressed sound and says, very calmly, "Madame Pomfrey, please stop. You're upsetting him."

The matron turns to greet the newcomers and her face clouds over with distrust and anger. _Bollocks, not her too_, Harry thinks, and he closes his eyes as she fails to do as Draco says.

"Don't you tell me how to do my job, boy," she tells him darkly. "This child is in pain and that fever _needs _to be brought down, I've been doing this far longer than you—"

Before she can even finish the sentence, however, objects in the cubicle start exploding.

At first it's the bedside table—it leaps into the air and then shatters into numerous splinters of wood, which then hurl through the air at various occupants of the room. The boy on the bed cries out and covers his head with his arms, and then a lamp explodes, and a clay jug of water—liquid and sharp pieces flying everywhere.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shouts before McGonagall and Pomfrey can do anything to make it worse, catching their wands and ignoring their shocked faces. Draco throws himself onto the bed and grabs at the boy, covering him with his body and throwing up shield spells all over as debris twists and turns in the air, flying at everyone. Harry ducks out of the way of a large shard of clay and watches Draco on the bed, whispering urgently to the boy, pulling out the magical dampener potion and coaxing it towards him. Pomfrey lets out a noise of protest and Harry snarls at her, "_Stand back_!"

A breathless, worried moment in which the wild magic continues its storm, before the boy finally sits up shakily and chugs the potion, slumping back immediately. Draco looks pained and distraught, his forehead bleeding from where a part of the table had hit him, but he carefully raises his wand and says, "On three, Harry, one, two—_extractum magia_!"

Another storm seems to rise up in the room—but this one overtakes the debris storm completely, leaving nothing in its wake but the empty spots from which the objects had blown up. Harry heaves a deep sigh of relief and crosses the room quickly as Draco moves off the bed and looks down at the boy.

"Feeling a bit better?" he asks him kindly, and the boy nods and croaks out a very small, "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry answers quickly, and the boy gives him a tired, wan smile and leans back on the bed.

"Try and get some rest," Draco tells him, wand moving effortlessly as he speaks, almost as an afterthought. Soft light surrounds the bed, and he examines it for a minute before nodding and giving the boy a smile. "You'll be just fine. Just relax."

He beckons Harry away and turns to the two women at the far side of the cubicle, who are both staring at them. Pomfrey is clutching at a wound on her arm, and Draco gestures to it. "I can heal that, if you'd like. Let's step into your office."

The small group leaves the quarantined area, reconvening in Madame Pomfrey's office, where the nurse does, indeed, hold out her arm to be healed. Draco doesn't even say anything, just waves his wand negligently over the cut and smiles a bit as it disappears. A warm breeze seems to fill the room for a minute, with a smell like sunshine, and Harry has the sudden urge to be wrapped in Draco's healing magic forever.

"Thank you," Pomfrey says softly, kindly. She gives him a small smile. "If Mr. Potter will return my wand, I'll heal you as well."

"Oh," Harry starts, and he quickly passes their wands back to them. "Sorry, I just—"

"No need to apologize, Harry," McGonagall tells him sternly, though her eyes are much kinder. "You handled that situation very well—both of you did. I must admit, Healer Malfoy, that I am impressed."

Draco beams at her, and Harry has a flash of a brownnosing eleven-year-old smarming his way into teachers' good graces.

"I'm flattered, Headmistress. However, I'm afraid the situation has only been delayed, rather than resolved. We're still not sure of what, exactly, this is, but you can trust that I'm going to do everything I can to figure it out. In the meantime, I'd like to move the patient to St. Mungo's, where he can be carefully monitored under the effects of the magical dampener."

Pomfrey sucks in a breath, and from the matching pained expressions on both their faces, Harry can tell that she is just as reluctant to use a dampener on a child as Draco had been.

"Surely such an extreme measure—"

"If there were any other way to ensure his safety, believe me, Madame Pomfrey, I would use it," Draco sighs. Harry studies him and decides he's going to knock him out and put him back to bed in the Abraxas Ward when they return.

The foursome returns to the cubicle to find Neville sitting beside the boy's bed, looking worried and tired. He jumps up when he sees them and starts wringing his hands, as if caught doing something awful. Harry beams at him and grabs one of his hands to shake.

"Neville! Good to see you!"

"Hi—hi Harry, Draco. Are you—you guys are here for Paul?" He indicates the sleeping boy and Harry recalls that Neville had been made Head of Gryffindor House—much to Hermione's chagrin.

Harry explains to Neville that Paul will be alright for now, though it doesn't seem to alleviate any of his worry. He keeps fidgeting horribly during the entire conversation, shooting looks between Draco and Paul and the floor almost on a continuous loop. Harry is reminded of the way he'd acted that day at the train station, and wonders if he's still having problems with Susan Bones.

"Professor Longbottom," Draco suddenly cuts in to Harry's strained reassurances. "I'd actually like to ask you some questions about Paul, since you are his Head of House. Would you mind joining me in Madame Pomfrey's office?" He gives Harry a small nod indicating that he should stay, and his face is a bit pinched and strange. Harry wonders if the exhaustion is getting to him again.

"S—sure, Draco. Anything I can do to help."

They don't take long, no more than 20 or so minutes, but when they rejoin them Neville looks more agitated than ever, and Draco looks drained and confused. He gives the Headmistress and the nurse quick, cordial goodbyes and then immediately levitates Paul's sleeping form onto a Conjured stretcher and guides him gently towards the Floo.

Harry doesn't have a chance to ask what's wrong until Paul is safely tucked into a bed in Derwent, and his parents have been notified. Draco beckons him wearily into his office and shuts the door behind him.

"You should sleep again," he makes the mistake of saying, and Draco sort of explodes.

"No, I should _not_. Has it registered yet that there is an unknown affliction striking down Hogwarts first years and wreaking havoc on their magical cores? That the longer I keep them under a magical dampener, the less chance there is for their bodies to recover their magic completely? I really do not fancy putting 11-year-olds under a Forget-Me-Not treatment meant for 100-year-olds, and yet the longer this goes on, the more likely it is that I'm going to have to!"

"Making yourself sick isn't going to—"

"I am a Healer, Harry. I know exactly how far my body can go, and I know my own limits. I haven't reached them. I will not reach them. Please, put a little more faith in me, for once."

Harry takes in his slumped shoulders and defeated expression and immediately feels guilty. Draco is right; he doesn't need Harry nagging him on top of everything else. And he realizes how this must sound, now, as if Harry doesn't trust him to do things right. He knows that he has to fix that, somehow.

"I have a lot of faith in you, Draco. I _know_ you can do this. I'm just worried."

"Well, don't be. I already have a mother, and she worries enough on her own. I also have Ginny, and even sodding Luna, and bloody Pansy, who doesn't have a maternal bone in her body but still sees fit to advise me that I'm 'letting my looks go', and Daphne, who thinks I'm her fourth child—"

"I don't think you're letting your looks go," Harry puts in pointedly, slightly annoyed with the accusation. As if Pansy 'Pug' Parkinson has any room to talk, that bitch.

Draco pauses in his rant, and looks at Harry oddly for a moment. Then, like a sun peeking out of a gray sky, almost seeming involuntary, he gives him a small twitch of a smile that nearly has Harry sucking in a breath. "Um. Thanks."

The moment is ruined utterly by the arrival of Zacharias Smith, who bursts into the office with Ginny at his heels, as if he owns it. Harry clenches his fists and concentrates very, very hard on not pummeling him.

"So what happened?" Zach asks loudly. "Corner's all upset that there's 'another one' on the floor, and Tabby just called him an inconsiderate wanker that should be working down in the morgue, for all the compassion he has—"

"There is another patient," Draco tells him patiently. Harry wishes he'd go into a hissy fit at being interrupted in his office, but then realizes that they're kind of pressed for time, and he'd totally bitch out Zach if he had the time. He entertains himself by picturing it for a few seconds, and then stops when he starts to get hard.

"Did you have to use a dampener?" Ginny asks gently, and Draco nods so sadly Harry twitches with the desire to hug him.

"Yes. But that just means I have to get down to the Lab again and _fix this _before we do irreparable damage to their magic." He sighs heavily and sits down behind his desk. "So far all I can do is rule out the parents. I'm still leaning towards the idea that this is a spell or potion doing this—the properties in the blood I've been examining have nothing in common with any of the characteristics of a disease or bug I've ever seen. Of course, it's entirely possible that this is a totally new disease or bug that nobody's ever seen before, but those just don't spring out of the Earth, they have to come from somewhere."

"Why can we rule out the parents?" Harry asks, sitting down in a chair across from Draco. Ginny and Zach sit down on the couch, and everyone looks so tense and unhappy that Harry can't even pretend this is just another casual rooftop lunch. He misses those desperately for a moment, and then pushes that aside to focus.

"A few things. Just a feeling I have—the Baxters were _extremely _distraught when they got here, apparently they were having a lot of Portkey difficulties trying to get back from India. Remember what you said about my parents leveling the hospital, Ginny? Well, they almost did—the father nearly put me through a wall when I explained I didn't have a diagnosis—"

"He _what_?" Harry exclaims, incensed. Draco gives him a look that reminds him _not my mother, Potter _but he's gratified to see Ginny and Zach looking just as angry.

"—which is completely understandable, given the circumstances, and if I could put myself through a wall I probably would. _Also_," he continues sharply, quieting the protests with a look. "Neville said that the two patients have nothing to do with each other—they're not friends, and as far as he knows, neither are the families. While it's entirely possible they know each other—they're both purebloods—it's not likely that it's well enough to concoct this kind of conspiracy together. In fact, the only thing the two patients have in common is that they're both purebloods and they're both rather slow magically."

He gestures, as if okaying them to speak, and Ginny immediately jumps in. "Do you think they're being targeted because they're purebloods?"

"I have no idea. Possibly. It stands to reason that it would affect purebloods more—"

"Why?" Harry asks.

"Because afflictions or disorders involving the magical core always hit purebloods harder," Draco tells him. "A Muggleborn or half-blood could live for years after their magic had atrophied; it was often purebloods who ended up upstairs as vegetables in Spell Damage, before the Forget-Me-Not. They always take the longest to recover from the treatment, too. So if they are being targeted, it could be for that reason—the culprit wants to do as much damage as possible." He makes a face. "I want to assume right now that this has as little to do with blood politics as possible."

"That could be foolish, though," Zacharias points out.

"And it could be that there's no culprit at all. It could be a brand new mutation that we're only just discovering. I don't think so, but I'd much prefer it to be that. I'm a Healer, not a politician, not an Auror."

"Draco's right," Harry says, to nobody's surprise. Zacharias scowls but lets him talk, and Draco shoots him a grateful nod. "Right now, his priority is figuring out what, exactly, is wrong with the patients. If it comes to the point where he can't do that without bringing in politics or investigating possible culprits, then he's got a Ministry full of Slytherins and me to help him with that." He gives Draco his most supportive grin. "We won't nag or be insulted if you run to the Lab now. We get it."

"Yes, go to the Lab for now, but you'll have to take a break _some time_," Ginny tells him plainly. Off all three men's blank looks, she groans and throws her hands up in the air. "Good grief, are you serious? It's the last week in September." More blank looks; Zacharias blinks. "Um, you know, _the wedding_? It's Saturday."

"Bloody hell," Draco breathes out, looking stricken. "How the fuck did that sneak up on us? God, I don't have _time_—"

"Don't even think about it, Pansy will slaughter you if you try to skive off!"

"I know, I know." He stands up abruptly. "Right, then, if I have to take the weekend off, I'd better get started now." He looks at them all, rather comfortably sprawled out across his office, and blanches. "That means you have to leave too, you know."

"Hm," Zacharias drawls, swinging an arm across Ginny's shoulders and squeezing. "Actually, I'm quite comfortable here." Ginny grins and snuggles into his side.

"Could do with a nap," Harry tries to drawl, leaning back in his chair and grinning.

"You're all ridiculous, and embarrassing, and I won't leave you to pollute my office with your utter lack of professionalism." But one of Draco's involuntary smiles is creeping over his face again, and he finally looks a bit younger, a bit less as though he's got an entire world on his shoulders.

"Come on, Draco, you've got to have time for a cuddle," Ginny wheedles, and Draco snorts and rolls his eyes.

"Group hug, at least?" Harry asks. That makes him laugh out loud.

"I appreciate the sentiments. You're all mad." But he looks pleased about it, and Harry totally understands the feeling.

* * *

Over the next few days, Draco only leaves the Lab to check up on Iris and Paul and their parents, who have commandeered the on-call room as their waiting area, much to the dismay of Zacharias. "Not that you ever actually used the on-call room to take your naps," Ginny points out as he pouts his way through lunch one day. "No, you much prefer Draco to catch you in patient rooms and yell at you."

"It's not my fault he's a tyrant!" Zacharias complains, though Harry recognizes the faraway look in his eyes. He knows how hot it is to be told off and ordered about by Draco; he basically understands where he's coming from there.

With the inclusion of the parents comes, unfortunately, media attention; one of the parents—and Harry guesses it's the Baxter father, whom he's disliked since meeting—spills the sob story of the unknown disease to both the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler, and though a quick and curt Floo call to Draco's father takes care of the latter, the former proves to be just as persistent as ever in uncovering more on the story.

"Sod it all," Draco growls one morning, looking outraged and ready to kill (Trainees dive away out of sight). "A reporter followed me all the way from the townhouse this morning—oh, walk to work, Mum says, you could use the exercise—as if I have even an _ounce _of flab on me—"

"Could do with some muscle, though," Ginny tells him carelessly, not looking up from her chart. Draco glares balefully at her.

"He's svelte," Harry says winningly. Zacharias pretends to gag from Ginny's desk.

"Scrawny," Ginny counters, though she gives Harry a discreet thumbs up.

Draco does not look amused. "Okay. Can we stop talking about my undeniably perfect, god-like figure and focus on the real problem: we can't let this turn into a media circus."

"So we don't." Ginny shrugs and finally looks up. Harry decides she seems strangely Zen for a Wednesday morning, and looks at her carefully. Her normally work-stiffened shoulders are relaxed, and her posture is easy where she's leaning against the counter. She looks a bit like Zacharias, actually, as if she's just been napping in Derwent.

When Michael Corner walks by and blushes immediately, Harry figures out why.

"And how do you suggest we do that, Mrs. Corner?" Draco drawls out lowly, a slow honeyed grin spreading across his face, and it's Ginny's turn to blush.

"Oh not _again _with these two," Zacharias whines, dropping his head into his arms on the desk.

"Oh shut up," Ginny snaps. "Why should Luna and Sparrow be the only ones getting any around here? Just because you three are all gay doesn't mean there are no straight men in this hospital."

"I'm not gay," Draco and Zacharias say together, and then they glare at each other.

"I'm flexible," Zacharias explains.

"I'm open," Draco elaborates.

"I like penis, mostly," Harry says cheerily, and the two blonds glare in unison again. Ginny laughs and high fives him.

"Me too, Harry. Me too."

"I don't have time for this," Draco tells them for the hundredth time that week. "If Rita Skeeter shows up on the floor, Stun her and call me. I'll be in the Lab." He stalks off muttering darkly, as is his wont, and Ginny snorts.

"Not gay," she scoffs. "Please. Gay as a maypole."

"Never mind the three-year-long relationship with the woman," Zacharias points out. Ginny snorts again.

"Well, Luna hardly counts, does she?" And that gets her muttering darkly about Luna, so much that even as Harry starts to ask, Zacharias shakes his head quickly and mouths warnings at him until he changes his mind.

Rita Skeeter doesn't actually make an appearance on the floor that day—she waits until the next day, sauntering in with a squat, round man who is clutching at his stomach with one hand and holding a bulging duffel bag under his other arm. Harry spots them on the way in from Abraxas and goes cold with dread, but for once she doesn't seem to be looking for him—she's scanning the floor for Draco.

Draco and Ginny round a corner and stop mid-conversation when they spot her. Harry fingers his wand and remembers Draco's instructions to Stun her, but something in Draco's face stops him, and he keeps back for the moment.

"Excuse me, Healer," Rita drawls, an acidic smile stretching her red mouth. "My friend Bert requires some medical attention—he appears to have a stomach bug."

As if waiting for her cue, the squat man vomits spectacularly all over the floor in front of him. The vomit bounces away from the area surrounding Rita's high heels, and Harry rolls his eyes at the sheer nerve of her.

Draco, it seems, isn't in an annihilating mood—or maybe he is, and just wants to take his time. "Certainly, ma'am," he answers smoothly, looking the picture of cold professionalism. "Why, Mediwizard Smith—" As if popping out of the floor, Zacharias appears at Draco's other shoulder, and he, Ginny and Draco form a rather fierce, vicious-looking trio. "—will be happy to show your companion to an exam room and check him over." Zach draws his wand but makes no move towards the man, seeming to sense her upcoming protest.

It happens promptly. "Ah, well, I was hoping for someone a bit higher up than a Mediwizard." Zacharias' mouth curls dangerously. "This seems to be a truly virulent bug, and I only want the best for my, erm, friend." Her eyes glitter a bit. "I'm sure that you can accommodate me, Healer…" As if she doesn't know his name. Harry seethes with dislike, and his wand twitches in his hand.

But Draco, Ginny and Zacharias are standing together, firm and stubborn. "Unfortunately," Ginny says quietly, icily, tilting her head to the side. "Healers typically don't perform these kinds of exams—you'll just have to make do with Mediwizard Smith. I assure you that he is more than capable—"

She is cut off when the duffle bag, which the man had been angling more and more towards Draco, lets out a flash and the sound of a shutter. Suddenly Ginny and Draco are holding their wands, too, and the trio raises them threateningly.

Rita, for her part, doesn't flinch, though the man recoils fearfully and then vomits again.

A crowd of Bugs employees has gathered around now, but none of them speak, for once. They just glare at Rita spitefully, and most look ready to draw their own wands and back Draco, Ginny and Zach up.

"I'll be gentle," Zacharias says coldly—and the man's bag flashes again.

"That's it," Draco snaps, all pretenses of coolness gone. "Get the _fuck _off of my floor before I remove you by force."

"But Healer Malfoy," Rita simpers, and maybe it's that undertone of danger and threat in her voice, but suddenly Harry's raising his own wand and stepping into sight.

"Right, he said to leave, _now_, so I'd do as he says."

"Mr. Potter!" Anybody else would look upset at Harry's deadly tone, but Rita only looks delighted. "Excellent, while Healer Malfoy sees to my _friend_, you and I can have a quick chat in the—"

"_Leave_!" Harry hisses, and the sheer violence in his voice finally has her reeling back. She gives a decidedly sour pout and opens her mouth, no doubt to protest, but is cut off by the sudden appearance of Gregory Goyle, looking tall and proud in his security uniform, gripping her by the arm.

"'Scuse me, miss, but I'm gonna have to escort you out now—"

"Excuse _me_!" Rita snarls, finally realizing she's not going to get past the brick wall of hospital employees. "How dare you refuse my friend treatment—what kind of place—"

"We have every right to refuse treatment, though here's a quickie diagnosis," Zacharias tells her. "Puking Pastille. I'd lay off them, if I were you, too many can cause severe dehydration." He rolls his eyes. "But you don't have to listen to _me_, I'm just a Mediwizard."

The photographer pales, but Rita tries to struggle out of Goyle's iron-clad grip, still snarling viciously at him. "Get your hands off me, you Death Eater _scum_—"

"_Stupefy_!" call four voices, and Harry, Draco, Ginny and sweet-mannered, mild-tempered Tabitha Crowley all look at each other as Rita drops and Goyle catches her.

"Bollocks," Draco sighs. "Might have to get her in a bed. She won't be waking up any time soon."

"I'll drop her off in Spell Damage," Goyle grunts. He gives the photographer a hard stare, and the man whimpers and then bolts towards the lifts, clutching his camera/duffel tightly. "Luna can give her that, whatsit called, that shock treatment stuff."

"Oh Greg," Draco calls out dreamily. "You have all the best ideas." He looks around at the floor, and nods and grins at the obvious show of support. "Be sure to explain about Ms. Skeeter's unfortunate fainting spell. Such a shame, really. But I'm sure Luna can fix her right up."

Harry looks around at all the gathered employees and knows that not a single one would ever deny that fainting spell, and he feels an unexpected swell of pride and affection for them. Draco must feel it, too, because as Goyle removes Rita and employees swarm around to clap Draco on the back and, even better, quickly and efficiently return to their duties, he's blinking a bit and still grinning widely. Even Sparrow musters up the courage to approach him, hastily calling out, "G—good for you, Healer Malfoy," and only making a small, frightened noise when Draco starts to glare.

"I hope we didn't do too much damage," Tabitha worries, but she's smiling proudly as she says it, and Harry is hit with an inexplicable urge to hug her.

When Draco goes back to the Lab, he's smiling brightly and unashamedly for the first time all week, and Harry can't believe that he has Rita Skeeter to thank for it.

* * *

The Prophet article that appears the next day is utterly predictable and useless, of course. The headline—"Auror Potter Seeks Redemption At Mungo's, Sniffing Out Death Eater Malfoy"—is accompanied by a truly spectacular picture of Draco looking furious and smoldering and—Harry may or may not have fired off a duplicating spell and pocketed a copy to take home with him.

Everyone is in turns delighted and disgusted by the article. Zacharias hangs the picture up at Station One and nurses stop to giggle and swoon at it. Draco barely notices, doing so much mad rushing back and forth between the Lab and the Derwent Ward, but when he does he is predictably scornful and dismissive.

There is also a smaller picture of Draco, Ginny and Zach wherein they are standing together like three avenging angels, and though Rita makes no mention of her own hospital stay and her official diagnosis from Healer Lovegood—"Nargle infestation in the occipital lobe"—she makes sure to imply that there is something rotten happening on the second floor of St. Mungo's, and that Harry Potter is trying to get to the bottom of it.

"How does it feel to have jumped to the same conclusion as Rita Skeeter?" Harry asks Draco the one time he manages to catch him that day.

"Sod off," is all the Healer has time for, and he races back to the Lab.

He has to be forcibly dragged out of the hospital at five o'clock by Ginny and Zacharias, Harry trailing behind them and watching in amusement. Ginny is ranting a mile a minute, ignoring the way he's swearing like a sailor, and Zacharias just looks entirely too smug to be touching Draco.

"—and if you even _dare _sneak back into that place tonight, not only will I tell your mother, I will _tell Pansy_—"

"GINNY! I need to—"

"—and she will have your bollocks, it is the weekend and it is time for a _break _and your best friend is getting married tomorrow, so go home and get some sodding _sleep _or I will Stun you and put you under a _somnio _for the night. Is that understood?"

"But Ginny—"

"Is that _understood_, Draco Malfoy?"

He slumps in defeat, looking rather drunk standing between them on a sidewalk in Muggle London. "I don't wanna _go_," he whines in a small, tired voice, and Harry feels a twinge of sympathy and suddenly wishes it were in his best interest to let him back in the hospital.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you do," Ginny scoffs, but suddenly she looks unsure—Draco never looks this outwardly defeated, ever. Harry leans in closer and the three of them form a small, protective huddle around him.

"Aren't you going to Ron's stag party?" he asks Draco quietly, just to give him a chance to blanch and moan and talk about what a terrible idea that would be, how a _Malfoy_ would never deign to go to a stag night of a _Weasley_.

Instead, he just shakes his head and then drops his forehead into his hand, and Harry immediately gets worried.

"I don't wanna go to the _wedding_," he says softly. Ginny and Harry exchange shocked glances, and Zacharias pats at Draco awkwardly.

"Why not? It's Pansy, Draco, come on. I know you're okay with them dating now, so don't even pretend—" But Ginny stops when Draco just shakes his head again, not even snapping at her or cursing her.

"Maybe we should call Luna," Zacharias whispers, and that seems to break Draco out of whatever little fit of despair he'd let himself fall into—his head snaps up and his eyes narrow and he shoves suddenly at Zach.

"Oh go to hell, I do not need _Luna _to babysit me. Fine, I'll go home like a good little boy. See you all tomorrow." He pushes his way out of the huddle and starts walking briskly down the street, pulling his jacket around him against the early October chill.

"Draco!" Ginny calls, and Harry starts after him, but he stops when Draco ducks quickly into the next alley he sees and Disapparates without looking back at them.

"Damn," Zacharias says helplessly, and Harry sighs and contemplates making them both take him to Draco's townhouse to figure out what's wrong. But he realizes Draco wouldn't appreciate that, would certainly not welcome it, and so he lets him go and tries not to worry too much.

But all through the rest of the night, he can't help but think about him, not that that's anything new. Ron notices right away, of course, despite the fact that there is plenty going on around him to keep him occupied. The Quidditch bar they've commandeered for the evening is full of various friends from the Auror department and from the Hogwarts days and most of his brothers—enough rowdy, intoxicated men to keep the lone stripper (and God help them all if Pansy ever catches wind of it) more than busy.

"Right," Ron says rather lucidly; Harry notices that he's been holding back on the drinking, and realizes that Pansy would probably kill him if he showed up hung-over to their wedding. "Seamus and, ah, _Sabrina _are seriously getting too cozy over there. 10 Galleons says he winds up with a little stripper baby after this."

Harry tries to laugh, he really does, but it sort of comes out as like a pathetic little worried gurgle. Ron gives him a look. "This is pathetic, mate. Zabini's right; the mooning is pretty disgusting."

"It's not—not _mooning_, Ron."

"I did invite him," Ron insists. "Fuck, I think Pans invited him to her party, too. It's not our fault he's an antisocial wanker sometimes."

"I know, it's not your fault." Harry sighs heavily, then finishes a beer and screws on his best determined, happy face. "I'm sorry. I'm ruining your party. This is your last single night, Ron, why aren't you, um, enjoying Sabrina?"

Ron sighs real big and tilts his head back. "Honestly? Think I'm just as pathetic as you." He snorts. "I keep hearing Pansy in my head, picking apart Sabrina's outfit. 'For Merlin's sake, is that a polyester-nylon blend? Has she no shame?'" He does a pitch perfect rendition of Pansy's drawling, high voice and it startles a laugh out of Harry.

"Wonderful. We can be pathetic sods together. At least yours loves you back."

Ron makes a small sound of pity. "Hey, we don't know what goes on in that twisted little Malfoy heart. Maybe he loves you. Um. He loves apple pie, you know? Once Ginny dragged him to a dinner at the Burrow, and he was miserable the whole night, you know, and then Mum brought out her apple pie and suddenly he was like this right little ray of sunshine, and he ate the pie like it was ambrosia straight from the heavens. And he said, all sweet, 'Mrs. Weasley, this is quite possibly the best apple pie I've ever had, and apple pie is very much my favorite pie.' And you know Mum, she was just so pleased, and now she sends him pie like, on his birthday and at Christmas and stuff. So." He gestures vaguely, obviously trying to find a point, and then points at Harry and very matter-of-factly finishes, "So. Get Mum's apple pie recipe, and bake him one. And then he'll love you and stuff."

He wonders if he'd miscounted how many beers Ron had had, and then decides no, that logic is perfectly, wonderfully Ron, and he can't help but grin widely at the thought of it. "Is that how you got Pansy?" Harry asks, because to Ron it probably _is _that simple.

"Fuck, no," Ron scoffs. "She'd have dumped the pie in my lap. Nope, nope. I got Pansy through a careful plan of seduction and romance." He thinks about it for a second. "Okay. We got drunk and shagged hatefully one night. But I _kept _her through a careful plan of seduction and romance." He winks lecherously.

"Except I don't have any time to put any plans of seduction into action," Harry sighs. "Every time I approach Draco directly he's either on his way to the Lab, dead tired, or pissed at me for one reason or another. This whole mysterious, dangerous child illness thing is awfully inconvenient for me."

"Wow. You've _definitely _been hanging out with Malfoy too much; it's like you took those words right out of his mouth." Suddenly, Run grins at something over by the doorway, and he nods towards it. "Hm. I wouldn't give up hope yet, mate, check it out."

Standing in the doorway of the pub, looking utterly appalled and disgusted with himself and the rest of the party-goers, is Draco. He's in his usual out-of-work uniform of tailored slacks and a sweater vest over a button down, and it shouldn't work as well as it does but of course it does, and of course Harry nearly swallows his tongue upon seeing him. The faint curl of his mouth and his squinty eyes shouldn't be attractive, either, but the way the expression softens when it rests upon Harry makes it totally, totally worth it. Harry tries not to preen when Draco ignores the scattered Slytherins in the room and makes way for Harry and Ron.

"I'll leave you to it," Ron says, giving Harry another wink, this one a bit more supportive and less sleazy. "Neville looks like he could use a beer and a friend—I guess Sabrina's traumatized him, poor lad." He gives Draco a hearty greeting that's waved off tiredly, and crosses the room to where Neville does, indeed, look rather miserable. However, Harry's not sure if he'd notice if Neville were swinging from the rafters, so focused is he on Draco making his smooth way over.

"You came," he beams, and Draco rolls his eyes and plops gracefully down into Ron's empty chair, sprawling in a way that only he can make look precise. He grabs Harry's beer out of his hand and chugs it, grimacing the whole way; Harry resists the urge to lick his throat.

"Yes. There's alcohol here." He scowls darkly. "Ginny broke into the townhouse and warded my liquor cabinet to kingdom come. I spent the last hour or so trying to break in before I gave up and came here." He turns the scowl on to the beer in his hand, as if its existence is offending him personally. "Though I'm realizing now I probably should've just bottled my own piss, it would probably taste about the same and wouldn't have to expose me to so many freckles." He shudders. "I told you about the hives, right?"

"I'm really glad you came," Harry says rather dreamily, and then realizes that's like holding up a big sign that says 'mock me' and snaps into himself. "Um, there's better booze. I'll—let me get you something."

Draco looks at him with an expression that tells Harry that there are just too many insults swirling around in his brain, and how can he pick just one? "What is wrong with you?" is what he goes with, and Harry is a little disappointed; he's sure that there had probably been more creative ones. Then he wonders when he became such a masochist and grimaces inwardly.

"Sorry. Just—_accio_!" Waving his wand in the direction of the bar, he ignores the bartender's startled, "Hey!" and Summons about seven different bottles of various types of alcohol, guiding them gently to rest on the table in front of them. He grins charmingly. "See? Pick."

Draco's lips quirk into a small smile, and it has Harry mentally patting himself on the back for actually managing to pull that off. "Neat trick, Harry." He Conjures a glass and examines the bottle of brandy before sniffing and pouring himself some.

"Fuck, this is weird," he says darkly, looking around at the other partiers. Ron has given up on cheering Neville and is instead cheering on Sabrina as she does body shots off of Seamus, who seems quite perplexed about it all. "I haven't seen some of these people since NEWT year…and all that red hair, ugh. It's only going to be _worse _tomorrow, isn't it, cause there'll be more and they'll be invading the Manor…" Draco stops, face frozen in disgust, and then peers closely at the stripper. "Good God. Is that polyester-nylon blend?"

Harry snorts loudly and hears Ginny saying, "_Gay as a maypole_," in his head. When Draco looks at him, looking oddly betrayed, Harry tries to find a silver lining Draco can deal with. "Just think of all the delightful Weasley-baiting your dad will get to do. That should make his month."

Draco shakes his head sorrowfully. "No, no, my father's no fun anymore. He'll be on his best behavior, smarming everyone and their mothers, so sweet his teeth will fall out. He's a man of the press now, you know," and they both take a minute to roll their eyes deeply. "—and so he has to maintain a friendly, open image—Lucius Malfoy, the face you can love, the news you can trust."

"Good grief ," Harry says, amused and slightly horrified. Draco smiles grimly and finishes off his drink, reaching for the bottle again quickly. Harry thinks about telling him to slow down and then remember his no nagging resolution. Besides, if alcohol is what got Draco here, then, well, it's probably what's keeping him.

"Mark my words," Draco says gravely, gesturing at Harry with his glass. "Tomorrow will be hell."

"Oh, I already knew that. I mean, I'm letting Ron sign his life over to a she-demon; of course it will be hell." He doesn't even bother looking apologetic when Draco glares at him. After a second, Draco seems to consider the words and then nods slowly.

"Point. But think of how you feel, and then multiply that by like a million, and you'll have the feelings of most of the rest of the Weasel family, the two youngest members notwithstanding. Mother Weasel likes _me _fine, but she still wouldn't spit on any member of my family if they were on fire, and she absolutely hates that the wedding's at the Manor. Not to mention her hatred of our beloved she-demon, which is a bit hypocritical if you ask me."

"Molly Weasley is a wonderful woman," Harry interjects firmly, and Draco waves him off.

"Yes, yes, of course. Whatever. But come on, men marry their mothers. You've seen Pansy in a rage, just because she isn't as barbaric and uncouth about it as Molly doesn't make the images any less similar."

"But Molly is like—she has a nurturing soul. Pansy is just a—" Pansy doesn't have a soul, is what he wants to say, but he bites down on it quickly. Draco seems to get the idea anyway and he narrows his eyes accusingly at Harry.

"You might want to get over that some time. I figure—you know, we're to be best-mates-in-laws after this. If I've been able to get over my burning hatred of the loud freckled one, you should be able to feel just a tad bit of goodwill towards Pansy. She's really not that bad." When Harry turns his own usual look of incredulity around on him, he tips his head back and laughs, hard. "Well, alright. She's terrible, you're right. But in a wonderful sort of way. If you stick around this time, you might figure that out."

"I'm not going anywhere." He's slightly taken aback by the surprise that lights upon Draco's face at that, and then is immediately annoyed by it. "I'm _not_."

"Right. For now." Draco looks into his glass and then moves to slosh more drink into it, but Harry grabs his wrist suddenly and leans forward.

"Draco. Hey, look at me." Surprised again by the vehemence in his voice, Draco looks up, and Harry pushes his glasses up his nose and locks eyes with him intently. "I'm not leaving again, you know. I'm staying, for good. Promise." He tries for one of his slow, careful grins—the _I wanna sex you up _grin, one of his Toronto exes had called it—and squeezes at Draco's wrist lightly. Draco stares at him blankly before yanking it back.

"Sure, Potter. That's why you haven't even found your own place to live yet, why you haven't taken a real job, why you've not even been out on a date—"

"Whoa, whoa," Harry says quickly, straining to keep the grin. "You've obviously given this a lot of thought." He hurries to continue as Draco flushes and starts to protest in righteous indignation. "Okay, one, I haven't found a place to live yet because, um, I don't know, I just haven't felt like it. Hermione's place is fine, though I'll probably see about getting my own place when the summer comes, just so we don't strangle each other. Two, I haven't taken a real job because, well, I like working with you guys. I actually can't picture myself doing anything else now."

Draco's still flushed, and he's sure the third helping of brandy isn't going to help, but Harry loves that color on him, so he doesn't mind. He seems to be thinking, and Harry likes the idea of Draco thinking about and worrying over Harry's permanence in his life so much that he can't help the natural, sunny smile on his face. This smile seems to have at least a little bit of an effect, now; Draco looks at him, a bit stunned, and his eyes take on a slight sheen that Harry recognizes from secret NEWT year meetings in cupboards and alcoves.

_Yes_! he thinks, mentally pumping a fist in the air. _Who needs Slytherin seduction plans? _He subtly scoots his chair closer to Draco and leans in a bit more; the flush spreads down Draco's neck and disappears into his open shirt collar, and Harry has to adjust his trousers imagining the expanse of pale, hard chest all pinked up under that sweater vest.

"And three," he finishes lowly, the tone of his voice unmistakable. "I haven't dated anyone because there's only one person I want." Draco sucks in a breath and looks at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, and Harry leans in ever closer, eyes locked on those lips, desperate to feel the short, panting breaths on his cheek…

"Oi," comes the ridiculously unwanted voice of Zacharias Smith, and Harry curses him to the high heavens when Draco jumps back and visibly shakes himself. "When did you get here, Draco? Thought you weren't coming."

"For fuck's sake, Smith!" Harry shouts, leaping from his seat. A bottle on the table goes flying and crashes somewhere nearby, but Harry's too incensed to pay attention, because Zacharias is smirking and he _knows_, he fucking _knows _what he'd interrupted and Harry has fucking _had it _with him.

"Sorry, just looked like you guys were having an intense discussion," Zacharias says, totally unapologetic. Harry clenches his fists and takes a step towards him, but suddenly Draco is on his feet, too, and grabbing him by the arm and tugging him down towards his seat.

"Don't," he says harshly, a bit pleadingly, and Harry swallows his rage and grabs at Draco's brandy, knocking back a swig to stop the shaking in his limbs.

"It's a party, guys," Zacharias continues easily, still with that fucking smirk, and Harry would leap up again if Draco didn't take his hand very suddenly and squeeze, _hard_. Harry whips his head to look at him, but Draco is looking stubbornly ahead, glaring up at Zacharias.

"Sit down, Zach, and wipe that smirk off your face," he says hotly. To Harry's dismay, Zacharias obeys, drawing up a chair and plopping down in it, though the smirk doesn't fully leave. "I'll have you know that's the Malfoy smirk, we've patented it, and you don't have my permission to borrow it."

"Sue me, then," Zach answers cheerfully, grabbing at one of the bottles Harry had Summoned for _Draco_, not _him_, and pouring himself a drink in a Conjured glass. Harry lets out a low growl that should be embarrassing but isn't, because he fucking hates Smith and he will growl at him if he wants to.

"We were just talking about whether or not Harry should try and get a paying job at the hospital." Draco ignores the growl but shifts uneasily in his seat; he seems to have to work hard at sounding cool and nonchalant. It takes a second for his sentence to break through Harry's haze of rage and frustration and _ohmygodhe'sstillholdingmy_hand! but when he does he starts a bit.

"We were?"

Draco nods a little shakily. "Yes. We were. Honestly, Harry, you can't keep working for free like this, it's making us all look bad."

"Don't you give most of your paychecks to the Abraxas Ward anyway?" Zacharias asks him, putting just the right amount of hero-worship in his voice to make Draco blush. _Fuck. You. Smith_, Harry thinks viciously. _That's _my _blush_.

"Fine then," Draco snaps back. "He's making _you _look bad."

Zacharias doesn't like that at all and scowls into his drink; Harry beams.

"I haven't thought about it. Wouldn't I have to go to a lot of schooling to be qualified, though?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh, yes, the scary books hurt, I forgot." Zacharias sniggers, and he eyes him and continues, "Well, you could become a Mediwizard. That's only six months of schooling, and it's designed for lower levels of intelligence." Zacharias stops sniggering and looks wounded and hurt.

"Hey!"

"How long does it take to be a Healer?" Harry quickly demands.

"Two years. In all honesty, though, Harry, I think you'd be an awful Healer. It's too much research and puzzling things out—you need to be doing something. You're a good listener, and honestly, we need more Mediwizards who know how to listen, isn't that right Smith?"

"I think he'd be a good nurse," Zacharias says thoughtfully, and Harry's contemplating smashing a bottle of cognac over his head until Draco squeezes his hand again and he forgets how to think for a moment.

"Got something against nurses, Smith? They do _your _job better than you do," Draco snarls, beyond annoyed now.

"Why, that implies I have something against Potter, and we all know _that's _not true," Zacharias answers plainly, giving Harry a very sweet smile.

"Sod _off_," Harry bites out, and that's a mistake; Draco lets out a huge sigh and lets go of Harry's hand. The loss sends him reeling and he very nearly cries out when Draco stands.

"Look, I've had enough of this," he says to them both. "This weekend is going to be fucked up enough without having to deal with the two of you. Let me know when you decide to act like rational human beings again, and I'll talk to you then." He leaves the table, taking his bottle of brandy with him, and joins Blaise and Theo across the room, where they've been laughing at the trio all night. Harry watches him go morosely and then glares hard at Zacharias, who looks just as displeased.

He makes a point to ignore Smith for the rest of the night, then, and decides to hang out with Ron and let Draco cool off a bit. The Slytherins leave, though, before Harry works up to approaching Draco again and he feels himself sag in disappointment. He pictures himself murdering Zacharias in about a dozen different ways and doesn't even feel guilty when he goes home and dreams about it, too. He dreams of Draco in his arms and flushing pink and looking ruffled and unkempt and _Harry's_, and he dreams of what it's like to kiss Draco even when he's doing more biting than kissing. He dreams of cupboards and alcoves and wakes up sticky and alone in a flat that still smells of homework.

* * *

next up...the wedding! *cackles gleefully*


	7. Part Seven

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, a bit of violence, mentions of past character death, a bit more angst

**Word Count:** ~7900

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Hey there! So, responses are really picking up for this story, which is just so awesome, I really can't thank you guys enough. I've gotten some pretty fantastic reviews and I'm honestly just so happy about it. I want to send an enormous thank you to everybody who left their thoughts or comments, you guys rock. Please keep it up, you'll have my eternal love and gratitude.

Things are going to start taking a more dramatic, angsty turn, a bit in this part and more in the next few parts. It's my belief, though, that all heartbreak needs a healthy side-serving of humor; my characters tend to snark and laugh in the most inappropriate places. So don't despair, there are still going to be a ton of light, sweet moments for y'all to enjoy. I'm just warning the faint-at-heart. Thanks again, and enjoy!

**Part Seven**

"How _dare _you show up to my wedding looking tired?" Pansy seethes, and Harry jumps as he feels a spell wash over his face without warning.

"God, okay, someone needs to get her wand away from her," Draco says fearfully as she rounds on him next.

"And _you_! Hung-over, aren't you? Well, we'll just see about—"

"Um! We're going to see Ron now, bye Pansy," Harry says hurriedly, and he grabs Draco and escapes with him down the long, elegant hallway, to the room where Ron is supposed to be getting ready.

The getting ready part takes five minutes, of course; the rest of the time he's drinking beer with his brothers, and he looks quite content to be doing so. Harry shuts the door on Pansy's screeching and faces Ron with a dark look. "You are marrying _that_. What the fuck did she do to my face?"

"Dunno, mate, but you look bright and fresh." He smiles benignly and nods at Draco, who is looking at the door as if Pansy is going to burst in and assault them again. "I'd keep Hermione away from your house-elves, by the way, she's been having words with them, and I don't think your parents will appreciate a mutiny."

Draco snorts and throws himself at a chaise lounge, doing that elegant sprawl thing again and reaching for a beer. The room they're in is small and airy, and the groom's side of the wedding party has set up a Wireless and is listening to a Quidditch game. Everyone looks calm and relaxed, even in their formal dress robes—a sharp contrast to the frenzied, screechy chaos of the bride's side of things.

"Oh, let her," Draco says carelessly. "Let them stage a revolt right in the middle of the ceremony; my father will love to get that in the Quibbler."

As if on cue, a photographer suddenly swoops in and snaps a picture of Draco on the chaise. Draco glares at him for a moment, then shrugs and drinks his beer.

"Yes, I'd want my picture too, if my only other options were all this red hair," he says haughtily.

"You know, I like how far we've come, Malfoy," Ron says thoughtfully. "Few years ago I would've hexed you for that. But now? Meh."

"Now, Pansy would gut you," Draco corrects, though he doesn't sound too pressed about it.

"Is there like a Cheering Charm on this room?" Harry asks, looking between the two. Ron thinks about it.

"Not that I know of, no."

"Bet the girls could do with one of those." Ron beams at him.

"That's such a great idea, Malfoy!" He suddenly gets up from his own seat and wanders over to the chaise, waving at the photographer. "Get a picture of me and my buddy Malfoy over here, Kent."

"Certainly, sir."

"No, seriously," Harry says loudly, looking at them both pointedly. "What the _fuck_?"

"The stress of the wedding has obviously melted his brain," Draco assesses knowledgably, but then he looks at Ron with something like fondness. "But it's okay Weasley, I'll still take a picture with you." He rearranges himself on the chaise to give Ron room, and the redhead plops down next to him with all the grace of a troll, and Draco _doesn't even make a comment_. Harry looks at them, two matching, ridiculous grins on their faces, and then looks at the beers in their hands. Looks at George Weasley.

"Okay. What's in the beer?"

George smiles innocently and throws his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. "You wound me, good sir."

"No. Seriously. _What did you do_? And when will it wear off? Pansy will kill you—"

"_Au contraire_, she'll be _delighted_! There will be no brawling at her wedding today; the Friendship Fizz will make sure of that." His voice turns into a full-on salesman pitch. "Friendship Fizz can bring together the most antagonistic of enemies, the most contrary of in-laws, the most competitive of archrivals—"

"George! They're _stoned!_" Harry cries out, watching Ron giggle into Draco's shoulder while Draco _lets him_.

"Yes, they seem to be taking it the hardest, but they weren't really enemies to begin with. They just sort of vaguely disliked each other. Now, Bill, on the other hand," he points over at the tall, older redhead who's very calmly discussing something with Neville across the room. "Bill's still steering clear of Malfoy, but he won't punch him if they do wind up talking. Honestly, I was gonna put Agitation Potation in everyone's drinks, just to get them even more riled up, but I think this is much funnier, don't you?"

All through the ceremony, there is evidence of George's Friendship Fizz, and Harry has to wonder if he'd had house-elf help in administering it. It's both horrific and hilarious—a strange and breezy conversation between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley about Muggle boxing, which they both find fascinating for entirely different reasons, has Harry simultaneously cursing George and applauding his genius. Pansy's mother, Violet Parkinson, is just a bit _too _friendly with Charlie Weasley, and Molly doesn't even seem to mind, loudly proclaiming that Charlie needs the influence of a strong woman in his life.

Only Pansy seems to be totally unaffected by the Friendship Fizz, and she is predictably outraged at the fact that her entire wedding party and various guests can't seem to stop hugging each other. However, a beaming Ginny and a glowing Daphne manage to convince her that there isn't time to murder George Weasley before the ceremony starts, and they usher her away while discreetly pocketing her wand like good bridesmaids should.

The ceremony takes place outside of Malfoy Manor in the East Garden, under a beautiful, gigantic wedding arch strewn with blue, green and white hydrangeas. Harry isn't sure if it's a temperature control spell or not, but the weather is perfect: crisp enough to remind them that it's the second of October, but warm enough that nobody seems to care. Even the white peacocks have been included in the festivities, all of them sporting bunches of blue hydrangeas tied around their necks.

The Quibbler photographer must take hundreds of pictures, and all of them show the various attendees and bridal party members sort of falling all over each other in warmth and companionship. It looks like the wedding of two people with friends and families that actually _like each other_, and for that, Harry can't be too mad at George.

The reception, in one of the large, stately ballrooms of the Manor, sees Draco and Ron joining each other in a few rousing renditions of 'Weasley Is Our King'—both the insulting and complimentary versions. Harry approaches Pansy cautiously where she's groaning in embarrassment at her new husband, and puts up two placating hands as she growls at him.

"If you even _try _to hug me, Potter—"

"Don't worry, I'm not drugged." He sits down next to her and watches the various strange couples dancing on the floor—Violet and Charlie, Lucius and Fleur, Daphne and Percy. "Hey. At least everyone's getting along, right?"

"Right. Except I think my new brother-in-law is about to be my new _step-daddy_." She puts her face in her hands and Harry considers patting her on the back a bit but quickly decides against it.

"Oh, come on. Don't Slytherins know how to be happy?" Pansy glares at him fiercely, but he rolls his eyes and gestures towards where Ron and Draco are doing a weird, shuffling two-step together. "You're _married_, for God's sake, Pansy. You just married one of the most terrific guys in the world. You get to spend the rest of your life pissing off his unseemly family, but more importantly, bossing him around. You should be ecstatic."

He hadn't really expected it to work, but against all odds, a small, besotted smile suddenly lights up her face, and she doesn't take her eyes off Ron even as she speaks to Harry. "Not bad, Potter. If you'll excuse me." And, holding up the train of her gorgeous white wedding robes, she marches across the ballroom and yanks Ron away from her best friend, leaving the blond looking confused but mostly unruffled. He is immediately pulled into a three-way dance with Greg and Luna, and looks very unconcerned for someone who's been dreading this day all week.

Harry doesn't even realize he's staring until Hermione speaks behind him and makes him nearly topple out of his seat. "And here I thought Ron was exaggerating about the mooning."

"Hermione!" He hugs her quickly, thankful that his hugs are real and not drug-induced, and she hugs him back, smiling warmly. She looks wonderful in her bridesmaid robes, her hair in an elegant bun and her posture carefree and untroubled, and Harry hugs her again just for good measure. "I've missed you."

"Really? And here I wasn't even sure you'd noticed I was gone."

"Of course I noticed. I haven't been lectured in _ages_. It's like living without a conscience." Hermione laughs and smacks him, and then drags him out on the dance floor and forces him to twirl her around.

"You look good, Harry. Mungo's obviously agrees with you." The _I told you so _goes unspoken but Harry hears it anyway, and it makes him smile.

"Yup, I've definitely found my calling. Entertaining old people and fighting off bursts of wild magic from children—it's life-changing work."

"Shut it, you're practically glowing, and I know you're not drugged. Though I suppose that has more to do with the company at work than the work itself, yes?" There is only a little accusation in her voice, which tells him she's obviously making an effort. He twirls her gracefully to show his gratitude. "You should've told me."

"Draco didn't want anybody to know."

"_Before _you came back. Like, I dunno, _when _it was happening."

"Well, then, _I _didn't want anyone to know." Hermione opens her mouth, most likely to chastise, and Harry silences her quickly with his most pitiful look. "And I'm paying for that now, believe me."

Hermione softens, correctly reading his distress, and she follows his gaze back over to Draco again. She makes a soft clucking sound with her tongue and nudges him. "You should go talk to him."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Today was probably really hard for him." When Harry gives her a skeptical look, she sighs. "Oh honestly, Harry, use your brain. Think about who planned this wedding—Narcissa Malfoy. And think about the color scheme—blue and green. Whose wedding do you think she was originally planning?"

Harry stiffens and then looks over again, at where Draco and Luna are getting their picture taken together by the photographer. He can tell right away it'll be one to be printed, and not just because they're the owners' children—the two blonds look perfect and comfortable with each other, and not that sloppy kind of Friendship Fizz-induced comfort. They're standing and posing in a way that looks like they've done it dozens of times before—and they shouldn't make sense, a few months ago Harry would've laughed at the thought. But now, they seem to make sense, and yet this isn't their wedding. Suddenly, Draco's trepidation the last few days is becoming clearer.

"Maybe I shouldn't—" But, as if answering his question, that silly sod Sparrow appears, giving Draco a fragile smile and tugging Luna away. Draco glares at the two of them—obviously, the Friendship Fizz is wearing off, and suddenly he looks more on edge and alone than he has all day. Harry abruptly lets go of Hermione and purposefully starts forward. "Right. I'm going."

He ignores Hermione's chuckling and concentrates on making his steady way towards Draco. He's almost there when Lucius Malfoy steps in front of him, beating him to his son by just a moment and speaking to him in a pinched, rough voice. Evidently, the Friendship Fizz has worn off for him, too.

"Draco. Did that little upstart really just make off with Luna right under your nose?"

Draco rolls his eyes and looks away from his father. "It doesn't matter, Father, Luna and I aren't—"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's humiliating! You are a Malfoy, Draco, Malfoys do not stand for being thrown over—"

"Hello, Lucius," Harry breaks in coldly, stepping up to Draco's side and taking his arm gently. Lucius stops and stares at Harry for a moment as if he's something one of his peacocks had coughed up. And then a blinding, delirious smile breaks out across his face, revealing teeth so white Harry almost takes a step back. Beside him, Draco lets out a snort and shakes his head.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. So nice to see you again." He holds out his hand and, though his skin crawls a bit with the idea of it, Harry takes it and gives it a quick, firm shake, letting go swiftly.

"Erm, likewise."

"Perhaps _you _can shed some light on the goings on at Bugs," Lucius drawls pleasantly, gray eyes sharp and inquisitive. It takes Harry a minute to realize he's being tapped for information by _Lucius Malfoy_, of all people, and he has to hold back a laugh at the thought of Lucius with a Quick Quotes Quill and pad. "My son is rather reluctant to discuss his work with me, though I can't imagine why. I only print the truth, you know, that is what the public wants."

"Father, stop," Draco says, sighing in exasperation. "Harry isn't going to tell you anything either, we're _not _going to the press with this case."

Lucius' smile freezes, though it remains steadfast even as he turns it on his son. "Draco, you know that I have to print a counter-article to that awful Skeeter woman's rubbish—the Prophet cannot be allowed to defame your character like that, I won't stand for it. It would be easier if you gave me facts to work with."

"Oh, please. They defame my character every other week—where were your counter-articles when they claimed I used the Imperius Curse to become Healer-in-Charge?"

"Ah, but no one truly believed that, did they? I am concerned about this, though, this kind of press can be harmful—"

"I think we can handle it," Harry cuts in firmly, reveling in the distaste that flits across Lucius' face. He expects an outburst, or at least a cutting remark, but instead he nods stiffly, keeping that smile plastered on as if it's giving him breath.

"Very well. I shall respect your wishes, then." Suddenly, his eyes light up a bit, and Harry follows his gaze over to where Ginny and Corner are eating canapés a few feet away. "Excellent, I'll just go say hi to my dear friend, Miss Jenny Weasley—"

"It's _Ginny_, you foul—" Harry bursts out angrily, but he stops when Draco tugs at him quickly and leads him away back towards the gardens.

"Not worth it," he mutters, and Harry sighs and concedes the point and allows himself to be pulled.

"How are you doing?" Harry asks him, once they've cleared the big French doors and are standing outside in the chilled October air. Fallen hydrangea petals crunch under their shoes as they head back under the arch, watching the peacocks gnaw at their flowery collars, and Draco shudders a bit and reaches out to untie one.

"These colors are making me seasick," he spits. "I've also been drugged and made a fool of by a Weasley, and my mother keeps sighing all wistfully whenever she sees me standing alone. So, not well, Harry, how about you?"

"I'm sorry about George," Harry winces. "And, well, yeah, the colors are irritating—"

"Oh come on, Potter," Draco suddenly explodes, rounding on Harry abruptly. "Stop it with this ridiculous, supportive best friend act! I'm not one of your little Gryffindors, you do not need to coddle me when I'm _sad_, and you certainly do not need to assume the responsibility of things that aren't your fault. You didn't make that psychotic Weasel drug us all for his own amusement, you're certainly not the reason I'm not the one getting married today, and you didn't pick the fucking color scheme! God, Canada made you so _boring_."

"So what am I supposed to do, then?" Harry demands, annoyed beyond reason. Draco hates it when he's flirting, he hates it when he's aggressive, he hates it when he's _nice_. "How am I supposed to be treating you, Draco? I thought we were friends, at least—"

"You're supposed to tell me when I'm being a whiny little bitch! You're supposed to call me on my shit, for fuck's sake, even _Ginny _does that better than you do now! You're supposed to stop pretending that you _like _me. Even when you were fucking me, you never pretended that you liked me. What happened to that?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I actually _do _like you now?" Harry asks him. Draco scoffs but Harry ploughs forward. "Though I'm seriously starting to forget why, God, you insolent fucking wanker, I don't know how anybody puts up with you, I don't know _why _I can't stop wanting you, I wish I could because you obviously can't stand the thought of what we did anymore—"

He breaks off when Draco swoops in, enraged, and for a moment he thinks Draco's going to hit him, and he thinks, _good_, and Draco gets in real close, breath harsh and loud against Harry's face, and Harry thinks maybe he'll be the one doing the hitting, and he grabs at Draco's arms and reconsiders the hitting, because when he drags him even closer and fits his mouth over his, Draco doesn't hit him, Draco _lets him_, Draco kisses back.

It's everything he's ever remembered—teeth and tongue and snarling breaths, too-tight grips and desperate sounds. Harry sucks at lips that are parting almost convulsively, tongues slick and hot against each other, and he holds onto seasick-colored robes and imagines pink skin underneath and breathes in Draco breath, licks Draco spit and it's rough and heady and everything their 18-year-old selves discovered, nothing they could've appreciated. Draco bites and mewls and lashes out with everything he's got, everything he's getting, and the air smells of seasick hydrangeas and peacocks and it's so utterly imperfect Harry knows he'll be dreaming of it forever.

It would probably go on forever, regardless of lung capacity, but then a flash and a shutter has them leaping apart and they both whirl to face the French doors, where Kent the photographer is holding his camera aloft and grinning smugly. Draco lets out a snarl and advances on him but the man turns and bolts back into the ballroom, leaving Draco to kick at flower petals on the ground and wrench his arms from underneath Harry's hands.

"Shit!"

"They won't—I mean, your dad—" Harry's breathless and reeling, trying to get his pounding heart to slow down and his erection under control, and he can't stop staring at Draco's swollen red mouth. As if feeling Harry's eyes, Draco wipes his hand across his spit-slicked face and scowls. "He won't print that, will he?"

"Fucked if I know. _Shit_. I will _kill _him if he does."

"He won't. I mean, it's—fuck. He wouldn't, would he?"

"I don't know. I _don't_—dammit, Potter."

"Oh don't 'dammit, Potter me'. You kissed back." He stops, overwhelmed by the thought for a minute, and then looks at Draco in wide-eyed wonder. "You _kissed back_."

"I know I did, I know. I—fuck. What a mess. This—this shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't have—"

"_No_," Harry says fiercely, lowly, his stomach turning over at the words. "No, you can't—what should it be like, Draco? I don't understand—I don't understand why you can still hate me so much—"

"I don't hate you! I haven't hated you in forever, Merlin, Harry." He looks really shocked at the thought, and he regards Harry with a different sort of wonder. Harry swallows hard and moves closer, biting back a cry of frustration when Draco shifts quickly out of reach.

"Then—then what? Why do you have such a problem with this?"

"Because—" And Draco sighs, still so, so tired, and he gestures vaguely around at the wedding arch, the hydrangeas and the peacock audience. "Because this—this is how things should've turned out. I—I had a plan, after you left. Become a Healer, become—become someone better. Good enough. And I didn't need _you_, or anyone really, even Luna, except then I—I did need Luna. And it wasn't even supposed to _be _Luna, but it was. And she—"

"What happened with Luna, Draco?" Harry asks quietly, shakily.

"We—" His voice breaks, and Harry knows that whatever this is, it's _bad_, bad enough for everyone to hate talking about it, to shut down the conversation whenever it's brought up. Dread is curling up in his stomach, but he has to know, because it's part of this, whatever this is that's always holding Draco back.

"We were—we were going to have a baby. And that was part of the plan, too. But then we—we lost him, and everything was ruined, and suddenly we just weren't—weren't _right _anymore, I couldn't handle it, and—"

"Oh, _fuck_," Harry sighs, and he moves fast, grabbing the blond before he can twist away again. He jerks back initially but Harry holds on tight, pulling the lean frame against his own and spreading a hand over his back. "Draco, I'm so—"

"I can't take a risk like that again," Draco finishes, blinking rapidly and refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "The plan was to—to get better, to stop fucking _failing_, and I messed that up with Luna but I won't do it again. I won't let you make me into that again."

"That wasn't your fault," he protests immediately, and Draco balks and tries to jerk away again; Harry just holds on tighter. "No, listen, you can't count losing—losing a baby as a failure, Draco, and this—what I want, that wouldn't make you a failure again, either—"

"You don't know, you weren't here, you don't _know _—"

"I know what I want, and I know what I feel—"

"Oh shut UP." And Draco succeeds now in pulling away, flinging himself out of Harry's grasp and hurtling himself towards the ballroom. And now he doesn't look upset, or defeated, or anything human, really. He looks cold and hard and _gone_, and Harry gulps a bit desperately and just wants him back. "Do _not _even try to bring feelings into this."

"No," Harry says, mind racing, but Draco turns without another word into the doors, following the path that the photographer had fled on, and Harry is left with the peacocks and the hydrangeas and no idea where to go next.

* * *

By the way everyone's staring at him on Monday morning, Harry knows it probably would've been a good idea to check out the Sunday issue of the Quibbler, but he'd just been too miserable to do it. He'd warded the Floo, too, and that was obviously a bad idea, because Ginny ambushes him as soon as she spots him, and she drags him into the archives room first thing.

"You!" she says harshly, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Me."

"Have you _seen _the papers? Now the Prophet is saying that Draco's seducing you to get out of the investigation—Pansy is _furious _because the Quibbler wedding coverage is all about you two, and Zacharias won't talk to _anybody_. What happened to The Plan?"

And very quickly, Harry gets angry. Because Harry is sick of Plans, big and small. Harry is sick of all these sodding _Slytherins_, with their mixed signals and their failing plots and their influencing well-meaning Gryffindors. He's sick of angry Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that make too much sense and yet not enough, and for the very first time since coming home, he misses Canada.

The Wizarding schools in Canada don't have house systems, as far as he knows. It's probably a wonderful way to live.

"I'm going to the Abraxas Ward," is all he can muster up, and though she splutters in outrage, he ignores her and sweeps out of the room, stopping when he sees the gathered crowd of Bugs employees listening outside the door.

"What?" he asks, annoyed, and Brigid leers at him.

"That was _fast_, Potter," she sneers, and he squints at her until he registers Corner's look of hurt betrayal and realizes what they all must think they were doing in there.

"Oh, _no_," Harry groans, but the nurses are giggling, and Ginny following him out looking pissed as hell doesn't help. She looks around at them all, scowling, and then puts her hands on her hips.

"Back to work, Draco is right, this floor is full of horrid gossips." When nobody moves, she draws herself as tall as possible and barks, "GO!" in a way that would make Draco flush with pride.

With that flush in mind, Harry stalks towards Abraxas, taking a quick detour to Draco's office on the way.

When he gets there, he can hear voices, and he stops and listens for a moment, not wanting to disrupt a meeting. But Draco doesn't sound professional—he sounds annoyed and exasperated, and when the second voice registers, Harry realizes why.

"I think I've been really patient, Malfoy," Zacharias is saying hotly, and Harry can practically hear Draco rolling his eyes.

"And I never told you to wait for me. Actually, I told you _not _to, I've told you I'm not interested—"

"You've never even given me a chance." Smith talks right over him, and that annoys Harry almost as much as it does Draco. "And you're giving _him _one, when he treated you like rubbish, like nothing—"

"I'm _not_—"

"—and you're flaunting it around in the fucking _papers_—"

"I am not flaunting—Zach, listen to me. It just happened. We didn't know the photographer was there, he just—we were talking and it just happened, that's all, I didn't do this as a personal affront to you."

"So that's how it works, then." Zacharias sounds contemplative, and a jolt of unease goes up Harry's spine. He presses his hand against the door, tensed.

"How what works? Zach? What are you—" His words are cut off by a thud of flesh on flesh, and the unmistakable sound of lips locking, and Harry sees red and throws the door open. Through his angry haze he registers Zacharias having Draco backed up against his desk, mouth pressed forcibly to his, and Draco wide-eyed and furious and rigid. Harry makes a split-second decision and wrenches Zacharias back by the shoulder, making another quick decision and pulling his fist back to then slam it into Zach's face. He feels his nose break under his knuckles and it _should _be satisfying, should be bloody perfect, and Zacharias goes down but it's _not enough_, it's not enough for all the interruptions and the derisive comments and all the stupid little smirks, it's not enough for how much he _hates _Smith, and how much Draco doesn't.

"_Potter_," Draco growls but Harry has had enough, Harry whirls around and ignores Zacharias groaning on the floor and yet another crowd gathering outside the door.

He ignores it all and says to Draco, very firmly, "Go out with me."

"_What_?" Zacharias makes a noise of outrage from the floor and Harry tries very hard not to kick him.

"You heard me. Your plans are shit, Draco, so go out with me."

"You're mental. Get out of my office—take _that _with you—"

"Go out with me. Be my boyfriend, not my toy, not my plaything, not my enemy with benefits—just go on a date with me. Please."

Draco stares at him, pale and confused and evidently at a loss for words, and he's opening his mouth when a small, apologetic voice comes from the door.

"Er, Draco." And Harry turns around with a hex on his tongue before he registers that it's Tabitha Crowley, and she looks rather devastated.

"Yes, Tabby?"

"I'm so sorry, just—it's Iris."

They both move quickly, then, jolting towards the door and following her towards Derwent. "What happened?" Harry demands, feeling his heart clench at the sorrowful look on Tabitha's face.

"She's—she's fighting the dampener, Michael thinks we should bring the level up—"

"No, no, _no_," Draco spits, suddenly breaking ahead of them and practically flying down the hallway. "No, we won't—"

But they can see the smoke even from down the hall, and they can see Iris' parents sobbing outside of her room, held back by Ginny and Brigid. Draco flies into the room with Harry right behind him, and he's almost thrown back by the force of the heat in the room.

Corner's pleading with Iris, shielding them with his wand from the fire that is dangerously close to them. "Grab her, Harry," Draco commands, pulling his wand and advancing on the Fiendfyre. He casts the spell to cut the magic off and it works only for a moment, before Iris cries out again and the flames burst back into life. Harry scoops her into his arms and tries to get out of the room but Corner stops him.

"No, she'll just bring the fire with her, we have to—Draco, she _needs _a stronger dampener—"

"No!" Draco insists, sweat beading on his forehead, desperately facing down the flames.

"Draco," Tabitha says from the doorway, and Draco looks at them all helplessly for a moment, looks at Iris crying into Harry's neck, then closes his eyes and swallows hard.

"O—okay. Tabby, get it—"

"No!" Iris screams, and the flames lash out at Draco. Harry yells out and Corner throws out a quick _protego_, and Draco just stands there, posture rigid, letting the flames lick around him up against the shield spell.

"Draco, get back," Harry commands, but Draco ignores him, just staring into the Fiendfyre, until Harry can't stand it anymore and, giving Iris back to Corner, races forward and grabs him roughly. "Stop it, fucking _hell _Draco, get away from there—"

Another burst of flames, this one so hot Harry can feel it _everywhere_, and he pushes Draco behind him as he hears Corner and Tabitha struggling with Iris. When the little girl quiets down Harry raises his wand and casts the spell to end the magic, and when it works he sighs and pulls Draco to him.

"_Don't_—" he starts hoarsely, but Draco immediately shoves away.

"I'm going to the Lab," he says in a low, dead voice that makes Harry shudder. He leaves the room without another word, leaving everyone to stare after him, and Corner looks at Harry apologetically as Tabitha carries Iris out to her parents.

"I'm sorry," Michael tells Harry, and Harry sighs and shakes his head.

Harry watches as they administer a stronger dampener to Paul, too, just in case, feeling a bit sick inside as it happens. He understands Draco's desperation now, understands how much of a risk putting these kids under like this is. He wants desperately to comfort him but wants to distract him from his work even less, and so he resigns himself to another day in Abraxas.

"Chin up, lad," Mrs. Aldridge tells him cheerily. "I saw your picture in the paper—you make a lovely couple."

"How do you win over a guy who has no faith in you, or even himself anymore?" Harry asks her bleakly. The older woman thinks about it carefully, before grinning and pointing at the kissing picture.

"Well, keep kissing him like that, I think." When Harry's dismayed expression doesn't change, she thinks on it again. "You can't really help about the faith in his own self until you fix the faith in you part. So think about the parts of your life that he has doubts about, and show him that you can fix them."

That night, he has a very long, productive Floo call with Hermione, because everyone else is really awful at plans, except for her.

The next day, he marches into Draco's office armed with coffee and a well-rehearsed speech, and ignores the fact that Draco's too tired to even try to throw him out, and jumps right in.

"Here, drink this, I've spiked it with Pepper-Up. So I've been busy. I met with a real estate agent yesterday after work and I'm seeing a whole bunch of flats on Thursday afternoon—I was hoping you would come with me, actually, because I've never bought my own place, my job found the Toronto place, and I really have no idea what I'm doing. Hermione also got me an application to the Apollo School—I've Owled that off and if I'm accepted into their Mediwizard program, I'll be starting in the spring. You were right, I haven't been back all the way, and no one has any reason to trust that I'm here for good unless I give them a reason."

He pauses, looking at Draco for a reaction, but the blond simply takes a grateful sip of coffee and looks at Harry speculatively. So Harry takes a deep breath and soldiers on. "Right. So, well, I already did the asking out thing yesterday, but you didn't get a chance to answer, so I'm gonna do it again—Draco, I'd really appreciate it if you would go out on a date with me."

Draco wrinkles his nose, and Harry's stomach drops, readying itself for a no. But what comes out of Draco's mouth isn't a no—it's not even a hell, no, or an exclamation of disgust. He simply says, "We're going back to Hogwarts."

Harry stares a bit. "Um. What?"

"We've had three more patients in this morning," Draco says shakily, and Harry sucks a breath in quickly and curses his awful, awful sense of timing. "Two Slytherins and a Ravenclaw. Same symptoms, and one of the Slytherins flooded the Infirmary when Pomfrey tried to cast a fever reducer. I've been in the Lab all night, and I—I can't find _anything. _I'm striking out left and right, and I can't conclusively say what this is yet, and I _need to_. So—so we need to go to Hogwarts, this is coming from there. And I need an Auror, but I can't have the Ministry in this, they won't be able to look past my name—"

"When do we leave?" Harry says immediately, and Draco breaks off into a small smile and stands up, clutching his coffee as if it's something precious.

"Now. Come on."

They Floo into the Headmistress' office this time, and are received on much more friendly terms.

"Hello gentlemen," McGonagall asks, giving as warm a smile as she can muster. "I truly appreciate you stepping in. I hate to suspect my staff—"

"—but something this well-disguised is most likely not the work of a student," Draco finishes, and her lips thin but she nods wearily. When Harry goes to protest, Draco shushes him with a look. "Even a Granger. No, if it's a potion, it was done by a Potions Master."

"You suspect Slughorn," Harry says immediately, before glancing at the Headmistress. Her face tightens but she doesn't seem angry—at least, not at Draco. They share a look and another nod before Draco turns to Harry.

"Yes. But I can't be sure—I need you to talk to him, Harry. I want to try and see all the Heads of Houses—we'll speak to them about the students, but I want you to specifically pay attention to Slughorn. I'm going to talk to Neville again, and I'll take that Caldwell fellow, the Ravenclaw Defense professor, he doesn't hate me quite so much. You take Slughorn and Susan Bones, they both detest me—"

"Susan hates you? But what about Neville?"

Draco looks at him impatiently. "What _about _Neville? Neville likes me alright, which is why I'm—"

"No, but, aren't they a couple?"

"I think you've got your Hufflepuffs mixed up, Harry," Draco tells him, rolling his eyes. "Neville's with Hannah Abbott; as far as I know he has nothing to do with Susan Bones." He claps his hands together sharply and gestures towards the door. "Come on, let's go, we're wasting time—"

"When you're both finished, I'd like you to report back to my office and inform me of your findings," McGonagall tells them sternly. Draco looks as if he wants to argue, but she shuts him up with a ferocious look. "This is my staff, Healer Malfoy, and my students. I am just as concerned about this as you are, and I expect to be kept informed."

"Right, of course," Draco answers quickly, and then pauses to regard her. "Thank you for letting us investigate this way, Headmistress. I know it was probably your first instinct to call on Aurors, and it's only a matter of time before we do have to get them involved, but—"

"But I trust that you will try to figure this out without further complicating the children's lives," McGonagall finishes for him, gently but firmly. Draco flushes at being addressed directly and singled out, and Harry grins gratefully at his former Head of House, knowing that Draco probably needs the confidence boost at this point. "I'm sure that I'm placing my school in capable hands, Healer."

"Thank you," Draco says a little roughly, and he hurries from the room, letting Harry follow after him.

Speaking to Slughorn is about as useless or tiresome as it's ever been—the man knows how to speak in circles, interjecting these sad little chuckles in between every sentence, and Harry gets a headache just from five minutes of it.

"Terrible business, yes," he tells Harry for about the fourth time, and Harry resists the urge to put his face into his hand. "Such a shame—those children have wonderful potential, you know. A bit slow, they are—certainly not Slug Club material, eh Harry? But then, they don't make 'em like they used to, do they?" He gives Harry a broad, worshipful smile, and he has to try not to shudder. Instead he latches on to a bit of Slughorn's words and tries desperately to drag the conversation into something useful.

"Actually, sir, this new illness could set them apart from the other students in the same way the Slug Club does," he tells him, infusing his voice with as much intrigue and drama as possible. Slughorn's eyes flicker, but he keeps his smile, smarmy and steady.

"Really, Harry? I thought all the patients were incapacitated." He only sounds mildly curious, a bit condescending—exactly like Slughorn always sounds. Harry tries not to groan and marvels at how out of practice at this he is.

"Well, yes, they are. But their magical levels are far exceeding those of their peers—it's possible that if we could control them and harness them, the illness could turn into a blessing." Crossing his fingers that setting out the suspected motive isn't going too far, Harry watches Slughorn's face avidly for signs of—of _something_.

But there's nothing—not even a twinge, and even as Harry reminds himself that not all Slytherins are as bad as Draco is at hiding what he really thinks, he concedes defeat for the moment. Slughorn doesn't take the bait at all.

"Right now, my dear boy, I don't see how that could possibly be true," Slughorn says mournfully, and then there's something in his face—sadness. Obvious regret that his students are suffering. Harry realizes that he had wanted Slughorn to be guilty so much that he had never really considered the idea that he wasn't.

Discouraged, Harry next seeks out Susan Bones, the History of Magic professor who had replaced Professor Binns when the ghost had decided to retire to another plane of existence. He finds her in the staff room marking papers with Hermione, and feels a twinge of regret at having to disturb them.

"Harry!" Hermione cries out happily, and he accepts a hug from her and a tremulous smile from Susan.

"Hello ladies. Sorry to interrupt. I'm here about the—"

"The ill students," Susan finishes quietly, looking distraught at the thought. "So it's an Auror investigation, then."

"Oh, no, I'm not with the Aurors," Harry tells her quickly, noting the nervous edge to her voice. "No, I work with the Magical Bugs and Diseases department at St. Mungo's, and we're just trying to get some background information on the students. We were hoping that you could help us, Professor Bones, since one of your Hufflepuffs—"

"I'm afraid I can't," Susan interrupts, and beside him, Hermione stiffens in surprise at the sharpness in her voice. "I'm not very close with any of the afflicted students—History of Magic is not exactly a hugely participatory class, you know, and—"

"Actually," Harry cuts in, remembering something. "One of the victims—er, _patients_, that is, mentioned you in a conversation with me." He sees the flinch at the word victim and thinks _bingo_.

"I would talk to Neville about it," Susan lobs back, flushing a bit. "He's much closer to the students—he's sort of taken Iris Baxter under his wing." She turns back to her grading. "I actually have to get back to this—you know how Ravenclaws can get about their marks—"

"Right, but if there's anything—" Harry starts, but Hermione suddenly clamps down on his arm in a clear signal for him to shut up.

"I'll walk you out, Harry," she says quickly, and before he can protest, she pulls him out of the staff lounge and out into the hallway. "Are you out of your mind?" she demands once they're outside. "You can't honestly suspect Susan—"

"Yes, I honestly do," Harry tells her quickly. "Look, I had a talk with Iris—she mentioned once that Susan told her the story of how Neville didn't show any signs of magic until he was dropped and bounced. We're working on the theory that this is something people started to give the kids a magical boost, and it just went wrong—and obviously Susan has some opinions about that, if she's telling stories about magical inadequacies—"

"Well then, for that matter, you should be looking at Neville, too," Hermione counters, and Harry reels back, put off totally by the thought.

"What? Hermione, not _Neville_—"

"Then not _Susan_," Hermione bites back, and then she takes a breath and seems to consider herself for a moment. Harry can practically see the wheels turning in her mind, before she looks at him carefully. "Okay. You're right. After all these years, I know I should trust your instincts on things like this. As much as I don't want to suspect my friend, as much as you don't want to suspect yours, I can see your point. I'll keep an eye on her. You should really look at Neville, though, he's been acting oddly all year."

Harry doesn't tell her that he thinks Neville's going through a romantic crisis—Hermione's just as meddlesome as Ginny, and if she gets wind of the fact that Neville has a crush on Susan, she'll do something about it. Instead, he promises to keep it in mind and leaves her to go back to marking Transfiguration essays, her idea of a good time.

He heads back up to the Headmistress' office and sees that Draco is already there and talking quietly to a portrait. When he moves to his side Harry sees that it's Snape, and feels a familiar mix of nervous displeasure roil in stomach.

"Hello Professor," he manages carefully, and Snape stops talking and scowls darkly at him, black eyes flaring.

"Potter. My, Draco, I had known you were keeping the company of Gryffindors, but I had no idea you were stooping so low to run with _this _Gryffindor."

To his surprise, Draco just laughs and waves a hand vaguely. "Oh, alright, let's get this over with—'Potter, you're an arrogant sod, an insolent brat, still a thorn in my non-corporeal side, et cetera et cetera.' There, was that enough, Professor, or did you want me to insult his father, too?"

Snape snarls lowly at him, managing to convey amazing depths of outrage even in oil portrait form. "You have a lot of nerve calling someone else an insolent brat, boy."

But Draco laughs again. "Yes, yes, I love you too, Severus. Now, get back to our discussion: what would cause armadillo bile to react that way with puffer-fish eyes? And what would mask the rest of the components so completely? I've tested for just about everything, including some rather Dark ingredients that you wouldn't typically find here."

"Nothing would mask the components completely—even a masking agent would keep traces in the blood," Snape tells him. "Did you check for a masking agent? You're obviously missing something. I assure you, Draco, that if it were Slughorn making a potion like this—or anybody in Hogwarts besides you, actually, then it is not so complex that you cannot deconstruct it. You're too emotionally invested right now—you're missing things because of your over involvement." His upper lip curls and he regards Harry with extreme distaste, and Harry fights to keep from sticking his tongue out at him. "I'm sure Potter's not been any help—"

"Stop it," Draco snaps, and both Snape and Harry stare at him in shock. "Harry's been helping me every step of the way, so you can lay off him for a while. He's doing a hell of a lot more than you."

"Well, seeing as he's _alive_ and I'm not, you can't really hold that against me, can you?" The look on Draco's face tells Harry that he probably does hold that against him, but he just shakes his head and glares down at his shoes, until Snape sighs heavily. "Draco. Look at me." Reluctantly, the blond looks up, seeming to Harry just a pupil afraid of disappointing his teacher again, instead of a 30-year-old man secure in his profession. "You can do this," Snape tells him firmly, and then he rolls his eyes in disgust. "Now stop whining and use that vapid little head of yours—if you used even a fifth of your brain power, you wouldn't need precious _Potter _helping you at any step of the way. Clear your mind and stop losing your nerve. I'm a bloody portrait, not an oracle."

It's the strangest pep talk Harry has ever heard, but it's so typically Snape that it almost makes Harry smile. Almost. It lifts Draco's shoulders, though, and that totally makes it worth it, makes Snape worth it, and Harry gives him a grateful nod as Draco says his goodbyes and turns to leave.

"We'll leave a note for McGonagall, I want to get back to the Lab," Draco says, and Harry follows but stops when Snape calls out to him.

"Yeah?"

"Don't muck this up, Potter," the portrait drawls icily, and he gives Harry a look that's stern and almost approving, on any other face. Harry nods again, trying for a smile, and then follows Draco through the Floo.


	8. Part Eight

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, violence

**Word Count:** ~7500

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Hi guys! Thank you soooo much for your awesome, awesome reviews, you guys are the best! I hope you like this part; we're starting to wind down towards the end of this. There are only three parts left, plus a teeny epilogue, but I may write some more one-shots in this universe eventually, if anybody would be interested in those. Please let me know what you think!

**Part Eight**

He tells Draco about Susan Bones back in his office, and they make a plan for Harry to talk to Iris about it once she wakes up. Apparently, Draco tells him sadly, she hasn't taken well to the stronger dampener, and has spent more time unconscious than not since they'd administered it. Draco looks so disheartened by this that Harry decides to forgo bringing up his earlier proposal again and instead prods him towards the Lab.

"Go on, you heard Snape," he tells him firmly. "_You can do this, Draco_—I didn't think he was even capable of being encouraging, and I'm still trying to figure out where a portrait gets off talking to you like you're a first year again."

Draco perks up and puts his fight face on, hurrying towards his door. However, he stops for a moment and looks back at Harry with an odd sort of smile. "Okay. I'll help you look at flats on Thursday, if you'd like. Merlin knows you'll need help—you can't be a respected Mediwizard and live in a hovel, Harry, I won't allow it."

Smiling brilliantly, Harry follows Draco out of the office and fights down on the urge to skip. It's not a yes—it's not a promise, or acceptance, or anything sure. But it's enough for him to hope again, to praise Hermione and the only plans that work, and suddenly things seem much brighter.

His sunny mood follows into the next day, and so of course fate decides to do everything it can to ruin it.

First thing he sees in the morning is Ginny and Zacharias having a spectacular row in front of Station One—a row that is most definitely about him.

"Ah, here's Saint Potter now, then," Zacharias sneers as Harry joins them. "I don't know what you want _me _around here for, Potter can surely do anything I can—"

"Harry doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you won't do your job!" Ginny insists, looking angrier than Harry has ever seen her. Wisps of red hair are falling out of her ponytail, and she looks infuriated and upset, so much so that Harry just piles on to his own hatred of Smith. "Or at least, he shouldn't. Zach, you can't do this, you're going to ruin everything—"

"Oh bugger off, Gin, I'm sick of feeling like an idiot."

"Then stop acting like one!" she screams, and suddenly throws a chart at him. He ducks and stares at her incredulously for a minute, before turning and storming off down the hallway. She makes a terrible, choked growl and puts her forehead in her palms, and when Harry touches her shoulder tentatively, she looks up and he's shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"Ginny?"

"I can't _stand _him," Ginny says harshly, and she grabs another chart and throws that, too. "He's so—so _stupid_! We've worked together for_ years_, since before Draco had even heard of this floor, and he's going to ruin it all for someone who doesn't even love him _back_."

The ever present audience is there, watching Ginny's mini-breakdown with a mix of intrigue and sympathy, and Harry huddles protectively over her and glares at them in the Draco way that usually makes them back off. It just makes them whisper, though, not even bothering to cup their hands over their mouths and hide it, and Harry quickly reassesses the fact that he wants to work here permanently.

"Gin, I'm sorry, I—"

"No fraternizing in the workplace, you two," Draco drawls from down the hall, and Harry jerks away from Ginny instinctively, infuriating her further. She grabs up a third chart and hurls it at Draco, meeting her mark beautifully—parchment whips into blond hair with a _smack _and he stands still, shocked. "What—"

"Go to hell, Draco," Ginny snaps, and then she storms off in the direction Zacharias had gone. Draco stares after her, hair askew, surrounded by the scattered bits of the chart he'd been attacked with, and then looks at Harry, who shrugs helplessly.

"Dear Merlin, they should broadcast this floor on the Wireless," Draco says, and looks around at the gathered gossips. "Oh, fuck, no. I am _so _sick of you people. If you're not gone in three seconds you're _all _fired, every single one of you, now go, go, go—Sparrow, where do you think you're going? It's time for rounds in Oldridge, get back here."

As if called by some unknown bat signal, the rest of the Trainees assemble around Sparrow and Draco for his one joy of the mornings: destroying dreams and beating down egos in rounds. Harry smiles to himself and decides that what this day needs to turn it back around is a nice helping of terrified Trainees and bossy, bloodthirsty Draco. He follows the Trainees not so discreetly and revels in the fact that Draco doesn't even call him on it, just lets him observe without a word.

"Quinlan," he sneers lowly, causing a Trainee to turn her head so fast to face him Harry wonders about whiplash. "Stop making faces at Potter and present your patient."

Quinlan immediately launches into a long medi-magical spiel about a small woman with curly brown hair, who smiles cheerily at them all from the bed. Harry can't see anything wrong with her visibly but apparently there's something, because Quinlan seems to have a lot to say. Draco barely takes a second to look at her; he makes a negligent wave of his wand over the patient and Harry smells the sunshine smell again, feels the warm breeze and smiles over it.

"That's wonderful, Quinlan," Draco drawls when the Trainee either runs out of breath or words. The woman beams, cheeks flushed with pleasure, and even Harry can tell this isn't going to end well. "However, you seem to have forgotten that Summerbee's Syndrome increases not only the levels of endorphins, but also hinders the body's ability to filter potassium. The treatment you've started Ms. Weld on is just as likely to make her heart stop from a potassium buildup as it is to cure her illness, which one would say is the opposite of a cure, yes?"

Quinlan sucks in a big breath, and Harry looks at the patient, who looks completely unconcerned, and is still smiling benignly at them all. He decides Summerbee's Syndrome must make you deliriously happy and that Draco would never a scare a patient like that otherwise. "Tell me how to fix it," Draco says quietly, icily, and he waves his wand again, making Harry think that he already has.

"Ah—oh. I would—I would monitor her heart rate, sir, ah—_closely_, that is, and I would start her on a blood filtering potion, level, um, 4? And I would—"

"What is all this _would_ rubbish, we're not working in hypotheticals. Quinlan, if you were a _real _TraineeHealer, hypothetically speaking, then you _would _take exactly that course of action. But since you're not really here, and we're not, in fact, having this conversation, apparently, I'll assume that course of action isn't being taken and Ms. Weld's heart is about to stop any minute now."

The patient giggles dazedly and waves at them all.

"Oh, but—" But with a dramatic eye roll, Draco is already moving on to the next bed.

"Let me know when you're _really _here, Quinlan, and then we'll talk. Sparrow, keep an eye on the cardio-scan I just did, and start her on level 4 blood filtering within the hour. Have a nice day, Ms. Weld. Next!"

"Cupcakes!" Ms. Weld calls after them, giggling again. Harry gives her a wave and follows.

Rounds go on in the same entertaining vein, until three quarters of the way through the ward, when they're interrupted. Draco is berating another Trainee for misdiagnosing a splinched patient for one with Vanishing Sickness when two maroon-robed figures barge into the ward, one looking apologetic, the other looking spiteful. Draco ignores them completely and continues his tirade, but all of the Trainees turn to look at them, and Harry moves to face the Aurors completely, feeling relieved when he sees one is Seamus Finnigan. He vaguely recognizes the other as someone he might've worked with once, before Canada, but can't put a name to the broad face or dark features, and bristles immediately at the predatory way he's regarding Draco.

"Sorry to interrupt, Harry," Seamus tells him, grimacing. "Smith said we could go on in—"

"Excuse me," Draco snaps, sharp but icily pleasant, finishing his lecture and rounding on the Aurors. "I'm in the middle of rounds, you gentlemen are welcome to wait for me outside of the ward—there's a waiting lounge—"

"Actually, Malfoy," the other Auror spits, and Draco's eyes glitter at being interrupted. "We're gonna need you to answer some questions, and you'll do so at _our _convenience, so—"

"—and you will _not _divert my attention from my patients," Draco counters loudly, speaking over the Auror just as he had done to him. The two take a minute to glare at each other, before Harry steps in between them, holding two hands up.

"Come on," he says easily, addressing Seamus but looking at the dark-haired one to include him, too. "I'll show you to the lounge, Healer Malfoy will be finished with his patients soon and then we can all—"

"Oh how _embarrassing_, Potter, he's already got you wrapped around his finger," the dark-haired Auror sneers. Now Seamus is glaring at him, too, and Harry feels his face heat in anger. "How many times did he have to bend over to turn you into _that_, then?"

"You—" Harry starts angrily, and Seamus grits out, "Clayworth, shut _up_!" but Draco suddenly points his wand at the Auror and mutters an incantation Harry doesn't know. With a pop softer than Apparition but in the same vein, Clayworth disappears, leaving Harry and Seamus and all of the Trainees to stare at Draco in horror.

Draco snorts. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I just Banished him to the hallway. I'll not let him spout off that worthless dribble in front of my patients."

"Fuck, Malfoy, you can't just go around Banishing Aurors, now he'll _really _want to arrest you!" Seamus moans, but Harry takes a determined step towards the exit to the ward, wand held tightly in one hand.

"I'll handle this," he says briskly, still seething, and it only takes a second for Draco and Seamus to catch up.

"Okay, calm down, Dark Lord Vanquisher," Draco says worriedly, putting a hand on Harry's arm. For the first time in a very long time, Harry quickly shakes off Draco's touch and continues his march, cursing the Apparition wards and wondering if Draco will Banish him to the hallway, too. "Look, we'll just see what questions they have—"

"I can tell you what questions we have!" Seamus insists. "We're just here about the Hogwarts sickness, Robards has a grandkid in his first year and he's worried. Easy, mate, don't piss Clayworth off more, he's very anti-Malfoy and he'll look for any excuse—"

"Let him try it," Harry hisses, ignoring their worried glances towards each other, which he soon pays for.

"_Petrificus totalus_!" Draco cries without warning, and Harry's body locks up mid-stride and he would've gone down if Draco hadn't caught him abruptly. He gazes up at Draco with wide, outraged eyes as the blond deposits him into an empty bed and frowns speculatively at him, and then plucks his wand from his frozen fingers.

"Blimey," Seamus says in wonder, looking at Draco as if never seeing him before. "Do you just run around here hexing people all day?"

"It's a perk of the job," Draco tosses out, and he looks at Harry closely. "Now I'm gonna have the Trainees look after you while I take care of this. I'm not sure what spurred this psychotic Gryffindor hysteria but I'm not gonna let you make a scene in front of the idiot Aurors. Sit tight, I'll be back as soon as my questioning's over."

Harry tries to make all kinds of protests—tries to show how ridiculous it is that Draco's being _questioned_, obviously cornered, and that trash like Clayworth thinks he's allowed to come on to his floor and insult him like that. Tries to tell him that this is a terrible idea, he needs Harry there because Harry will murder Clayworth if he so much as _breathes _threateningly in Draco's direction, and how can he think this is a good idea, how can he even allow this?

But he can't make any kind of protest. He can't even blink, and so he just rages silently while Draco nods at him and ruffles his hair and then sweeps out with Seamus.

Then he's looking up at Sparrow, Quinlan and the other Trainees, all of whom look confused and troubled.

"Oh, he looks mad," Quinlan says, chewing on her bottom lip.

_Yes_, Harry tries to think very loudly. _Yes, I am mad, if you release me I will not kill you when this wears off._ However, right now he can't imagine this _ever _wearing off, not with how rigid and tightened up he feels. _I guess Draco's been working on his technique_, he thinks bitterly, and then groans on the inside and tries unsuccessfully to move again.

"Of course he's mad," Sparrow tells her imperiously. "He's in a Body Bind and his boyfriend is probably getting beaten up by nasty Aurors." He looks thoughtful. "I always knew Malfoy was a masochist deep down. He'd have to be, to stay with Healer Lovegood for that long—"

"Urgh!" says another Trainee, clapping his hands over his ears. "_Stop _bragging about your loony, pervy girlfriend, Sparrow, we're sick of it!"

"Don't call her loony—she's _special_," Sparrow insists, and the Trainee rolls his eyes.

"Look, maybe we should release him."

_YES_, Harry screams with his mind. They don't listen at all.

"Oh, I don't know, Bradley," Quinlan says worriedly. "Healer Malfoy said we should—"

"Well Healer Malfoy says a lot of things," Bradley says hotly. "He obviously doesn't know what's best for him, and you know those Aurors aren't going to treat him fairly. _We _can't do anything 'cause we could lose our jobs, but Potter—"

"I don't know," Sparrow says, putting a hand to his chin as though thinking deeply about it. Harry decides his vengeance will be slow and horrible especially for Sparrow. "I think Malfoy needs to be taken down a peg or two—"

"That's awful!" Quinlan cries, and then she surprises Harry by drawing her wand. "I'm going to release him."

"Me too," Bradley says, pulling his own out.

"Think about this," Sparrow reasons. "If they hex Malfoy badly enough, he could wind up in Spell Damage. Can you imagine, a few days of terror-free rounds? Healer Crowley would run them, or even Corner—can you imagine, actually being _encouraged _by a superior?"

"Shut up, Sparrow, you twat," Bradley snaps.

"Harry can hear you, you know," Quinlan tells Sparrow quietly, and Sparrow freezes, as if the thought is just occurring to him.

"Oh," he whispers, and Harry thinks _oh, yes_ as Quinlan and Bradley release him from the Body Bind.

He goes for his wand first, before remembering that Draco had nicked it. He gives Sparrow a considering look, watching the terror unfurl across his features, before landing a punch right to his jaw that knocks him flat. "Thanks," he says to the other Trainees, and smiles at them as he leaves and they make no move to help Sparrow up.

Harry whips down the hallway towards Draco's office, not even pausing to tell off the nurses and Brigid and Corner, who are listening outside the door shamelessly. Instead he shoves the door open and takes a second to register the scene: Draco, looking harassed and angry, Clayworth, leaning far too close to him and snarling, and Seamus, first rolling his eyes and then looking at Harry fearfully.

"Oh, honestly, Harry," Draco sighs as Clayworth turns and sneers at him.

"Ah, your white knight arrives. Shall we leave the room while you give him his _reward_?"

"Oh my God, Clayworth, you have _got _to shut up!" Seamus groans. He moves in front of where Harry is practically breathing fire and ready to launch himself at the prick. "Look, Harry, I swear, we're almost done. This is not a hunting session, alright, Robards was just worried about the Prophet article, wanted us to check out—"

"Oh, so you're taking your cues from the _Prophet _now?" Harry demands harshly, beyond enraged. "Looks like I got out just in time."

"Yes, we all know the story of Saint Potter and his valiant escape from the Ministry's evil clutches," Clayworth snarls, throwing his hands up with ridiculous flair. "Too good for us, right, O Chosen One? What happened, Malfoy wagged his tail and you came—"

Harry rushes forward but Seamus grabs him and pulls him back. "Don't, Harry, you idiot, you're just feeding into it, that's what he wants you to do."

"You are a moron," Draco says tiredly, and Harry isn't sure who he's addressing and doesn't rightly care. Clayworth is standing too close to him, and he's obviously got it out for him, and there is something sick about the way the Auror is leering at him, something wrong and unsettling and it makes his blood boil to think about.

"I have to admit," Clayworth drawls, and this is not about sick kids, Harry's sure this was never about sick kids. "I don't blame you, Potter. It _is _a fine arse, for a dirty Death Eater—"

"CLAYWORTH!" Seamus bellows, and Harry gets a knee up and into his stomach and it's all he needs to be tearing out of his hold and launching himself at Clayworth with all his strength. He collides forcefully, knocking the jerk into Draco's desk and providing enough momentum for his fists to immediately start doing damage. He hears shouting above him and then feels a spell whiz by him but he rolls them and hits, kicks and Clayworth gasps and then _laughs_, and he's bleeding in at least one place but not enough places and then he's laughing harder because Harry's wrists are bound behind him in magical shackles, and he's being pulled up much too soon.

"No," he snarls, but Seamus has a hold of him now, and without his hands he's fairly useless. Clayworth is still laughing on the floor and Draco has his wand on him—he looks absolutely furious, ready to throw more hexes.

"Don't, Malfoy," Seamus pleads tiredly, and Draco looks at him. "I don't want to take you in, too."

Draco pales. "What? No, you can't, he was provoked—"

"He attacked an Auror," Seamus says, and Harry barely even registers that they're talking about him.

"You call that an _Auror_?" he spits angrily, and Clayworth just laughs some more, sitting up now and wiping blood from his mouth. He looks disgusting and smug, and Draco's fingers tighten around his wand but he brings himself down, taking a deep breath and seeming to center himself.

"Fine," he snaps, and he glares at Clayworth. "Get this trash out of my office, Finnigan. Harry—don't worry, just go with them for now, I'll have you out in an hour."

"So your reach extends to the DMLE too, then?" Clayworth asks loftily, sounding entirely too satisfied for someone who's missing a canine. "Is there anywhere you won't—"

"_Silencio_," Seamus snarls, and Clayworth finally looks outraged.

As he's shuffled out into the hall, still desperate to inflict as much pain as possible on Clayworth but unable to, Harry struggles to slow his breathing and calm himself in front of Corner, Brigid and the rest, who are all still watching the show. To his shock, Brigid draws her wand and steps up to them, glaring at Seamus.

"Where are you taking him?" she demands hotly, looking furious. Slowly, other employees are drawing their wands, too, and Harry realizes with a sudden rush of warmth that they're all preparing to defend _him_. It's a bit surreal, and also slightly ridiculous, and he forces himself to cool down for their sake.

"It's alright, Brigid," Draco tells her quietly, coming up behind them, ignoring Clayworth silently squawking beside him.

"I'll just take him to a holding cell," Seamus says, swallowing hard at the sight of all the employees looking murderous around him. Corner has drawn himself to his full height and is staring at Clayworth as if he can destroy him with his eyes. The troop of Trainees has rejoined them from the Oldridge Ward and Bradley and Quinlan look nervous but brave. Tabitha seems ready to start throwing Stunners again. "I'll get him booked and push a judge to see him fast, don't worry, and Robards is going to hear all about Clayworth's misconduct—"

"You can bet he is," Draco says darkly, and he looks the most dangerous of them all—positively sparking with dark energy, hair mussed, body taut with rage. He locks eyes with Harry and then it doesn't matter that he's bound by one of his oldest friends, about to be carted off to a holding cell and then God knows where—somehow, just seeing the determined edge in Draco's gaze is enough to for him to believe that it's going to be fine.

He sighs heavily and looks at Clayworth, still silent and pouting unattractively. "Let's go, Seamus, I suppose I'm long due for a DMLE reunion, yeah?"

Seamus lets out a shaky laugh and gives his arm an apologetic squeeze.

"Perhaps we should see to Auror Clayworth's injuries," Corner suggests coldly, taking a step forward. Brigid follows him, and two nurses come up on her either side, and the last Harry sees of them as he's led down the hall is Clayworth backed against the wall, mouth moving frantically and soundlessly, surrounded by staff in blue and pink.

"An hour, Harry!" Draco calls, and Harry can't help but grin back.

* * *

It takes less than an hour, actually.

He's sitting in a Ministry cell, calmly sipping iced tea that the pretty Auror office receptionist had poured him, trying very hard to regret losing his cool and flipping out the way he had. He finds it very difficult, and is just about ready to give up, when the door to the otherwise empty holding room opens and Harry looks up expectantly.

Two people step in: a lovely brunette woman in low-cut, blood red robes and Kent, the Quibbler photographer. They look at Harry speculatively as Harry blinks at them, and then Kent raises his camera and snaps a picture.

"Hey!" Harry says, standing up and putting his iced tea glass on his bench.

"Another, Kent, he looks quite victimized right now," the woman says in a crisp, sharp accent. She eyes Harry up and down through the bars of the cell and snorts. "He certainly looks like the victim of Auror brutality, look at his hair. Did he attack you with a hairbrush, Mr. Potter?" She snaps her fingers and a large feathered quill and pad appear in her hand. "Please tell me about it." Kent takes another picture.

"What are you doing? Do you know if I can see the judge yet?"

"Hm, they've beaten him stupid," the woman says thoughtfully. "Get a good shot of that vacant stare—"

"HEY!" Harry yells, moving closer to the bars as his temper rises once again.

"Deirdre, sweetheart," a cold, drawling voice calls from the doorway, and Harry looks to see Lucius Malfoy, of all people, smirking at them. "Don't toy with him. Get your story and let him be on his way, I'm sure he's been through quite an ordeal."

"On my way?" Harry repeats, eyeing him distrustfully. "I'm supposed to wait to see a—"

"Stop being ridiculous," Lucius snaps, and he waves his walking cane in the vague direction of the cell bars. The door swings open and Harry stares for a bit. Kent takes another picture.

"Is this legal?" he asks, even as he steps carefully out of the cell. Lucius lets out a huffy laugh and folds his arms over his chest, looking so much like a broader, long-haired Draco that Harry's insides fill with icy unease.

"Of course it's legal, Potter. The Malfoys hold the law in the highest regard," he says loftily, and then he glares at Deirdre, whose quill is moving rapidly across her notebook as she watches the two speak. "Did you get that, Deirdre? Mr. Potter clearly has tremendous respect for the law—"

"—_and an obvious affection for the Ministry that he was so reluctantly pulled away from_," Deirdre reads, sighing mournfully and smirking at the same time, which looks like quite a feat. "I've got my angle down pat, Mr. Malfoy, why, it's practically writing itself!" She turns to Harry and holds out a slender hand. "Deirdre Starr, Senior Staff Writer at the Quibbler. Tell me, Harry, what's it like being back here? Are there flashbacks? Describe how this room makes you _feel_."

"You've been drinking with Luna too much, Deirdre," Lucius purrs, sneering at her with something that's almost fondness. Harry takes her hand, still slightly bewildered, and turns back to Lucius.

"So I'm being let go, then." An odd feeling, a bit like gratitude, is bubbling up inside of him, and it's such a strange and distasteful feeling in relation to Lucius Malfoy that he feels kind of sick about it.

"See, told you. Beaten stupid." Deirdre sounds smug; her quill is flying.

"I'm afraid he was always that way," Lucius sighs, and then he gives Harry his sternest look. "Now Potter, answer Ms. Starr's questions so we can get out of here. This place smells of corruption and deceit." He doesn't quite manage to sound too disgusted by it, though, and Harry suddenly finds himself fighting back a smile. It's insane.

He gives Deirdre a brief rundown of the events leading up to his extremely short incarceration, staying perfectly honest while fully knowing only about 20 percent of the truth is going to actually make it in there. Indeed, the bits Deirdre reads out to Lucius (in a proud voice reminiscent of a daughter bragging about her marks to her father) make Harry into some kind of tragic victim of leftover Auror resentment, only defending himself and his colleagues in the attack on Clayworth. There's all the old clichés in there, of course: Harry is still a 'damaged, troubled war hero still struggling to find his way in a post-war world'. The Quibbler is, even under Lucius Malfoy's rule, just as great an example of yellow journalism that the Daily Prophet is. The publication is playing the game with every bit of venom and maliciousness that its rival is. The only difference between them is that, for now, the Quibbler is on Harry's side, and seems to have good intentions.

"It wouldn't do to have my son associated with an anarchist, Auror-baiting rabble-rouser, Potter. I would advise you to keep your temper in check in the future," Lucius tells him coldly, and the look in his eyes is pure, absolute threat.

"Auror-baiting? You should have heard the things Clayworth was saying _about _Draco, to Draco," Harry retorts, immediately taking offense at his menacing tone. He is not afraid of Lucius Malfoy, and he won't let himself be threatened by him; he still knows exactly the type of man Lucius is, and he'll never forget, man of the press or not. He also knows that Lucius is just as fiercely protective of Draco as Harry is, probably even more so, and sighs and says, in a softer, but still accusing tone, "Besides, it's _your _fault he's even associated with me in the first place. That stirred up a lot of shit for him, you know."

Unconcerned, Lucius shrugs. "I didn't say it would be a bad thing for Draco to be associated with the renowned savior of the Wizarding World, did I? Just not when he's attacking Aurors like a deranged escapee from the Thickey Ward in a hugely public place. I know Gryffindors are not known for their discretion—"

"But we've fixed it all up now, haven't we Mr. Malfoy?" Deirdre pipes in eagerly, and Lucius gives her a slow smile that makes her practically float.

"Yes, we certainly have. Come along, Potter, Ms. Parkins—er, that is, Mrs. Weasley—" here Lucius pauses for a brief shudder, and Harry can't help but smirk. "—has graciously interrupted her honeymoon to secure the paperwork for your release, with the assistance of Mr. Nott. I hope you will show her your utmost gratitude, but I do not suggest touching her in any way, or even making eye contact—she's not best pleased—"

'Not best pleased' is about the biggest understatement Harry has heard in a while—as the four of them make their way out of the holding cell area and into the bustling hallways of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry can see Pansy Parkinson—_well, Weasley now, ugh_—standing beside a desk with her arms crossed and her face twisted in a scowl. She is wearing lightweight lavender robes open over a bright yellow string bikini, and she looks tanned and infuriated, and Harry has to choke back a laugh at the ridiculousness of her standing in the middle of the Auror Department in her honeymoon wear.

Theodore Nott is lounging with his feet up on a desk nearby, smirking at Pansy's furious face, and leaning against the desk and talking animatedly to him is Ron, dressed in swim trunks and badly sunburnt. A grin splits his face as he spots Harry, and very quickly he's getting a hug that smells of inadequate sunblock and saltwater.

"Harry! Good, you're alright. Did they treat you okay?"

All of the Slytherins snort in unison, and Harry grins back at Ron.

"It was fine, Ron, I haven't even been here that long."

"Draco called about five minutes after you came in," Theo tells him, looking smug and important in his stylish robes and expensive haircut. "I'd have had you out of here then but Robards wanted a court order, and my—ah—favorite judge—" _The judge who takes bribes_, Harry translates. "—is on vacation. So I called Pansy—"

"Who was _also _on vacation," Pansy grits out, looking murderous. Harry grins charmingly at her until she's taking a threatening step towards him, and he stops because he knows she'd have no qualms about strangling him with the bikini.

"And she pushed the order through," Theo finishes, beaming at her and eyeing the spot where her robe is open. Ron narrows his eyes and steps between them. "Say 'thank you, Pansy.'"

"Thank you, Pansy," Harry parrots obediently, and then looks seriously at Theo. "And thank you, Nott, and, um, you too Lucius—"

"You are very welcome," Lucius rumbles, and he gives the gathered friends a farewell nod and then leads his staff out of the department, calling out smug greetings to the Aurors and Ministry workers who watch him go with undisguised distaste and distrust.

"Thank _Draco_, that idiotic sod," Pansy grumbles, and then she flicks her hair back and stands up straight, giving Harry a hard look. "Potter. The next time you need to defend Draco's honor, please do it in a back alley somewhere, and then Obliviate your victim, and especially do it when I'm not on my _honeymoon_, thank you."

"I'm sorry," he offers, but she just snorts and whirls around.

"Ronald! Let's go, I have a 5 pm massage appointment with Alberto, he's quite taken with me and he has magical fingers."

Ron lets out a growl and immediately crowds Pansy's exposed body with his own sunburnt one. "Yeah, I bet they won't be so magical once I break them all, huh—"

Bickering, the two follow Lucius out, leaving Harry with Theo, whose smugness is starting to make him nauseous. "Right," Harry says awkwardly. "Um, thanks again, so I'll just—"

"Here," Theo says shortly, sitting up and handing Harry his wand. "Draco sent that for you. He said not to bother coming back to the hospital, and also he's not speaking to you because you are an idiot who punches people too much." Harry deflates, realizing that while he hasn't had much of a reason to regret his antics yet, Draco might be able to give him one. He knows how Draco is about people who make scenes in his hospital, and he feels a twinge of remorse as he thinks that this probably ruined what little progress he had made with him this week.

Theo sees his dejected expression and grins at him in a way that makes Harry wonder if just one more punch won't do any more damage. He chuckles as if he knows what Harry's thinking and says, "He also said that he'll see you tomorrow morning, and he'll still help you look at flats tomorrow afternoon, since he did promise. Go home, Potter, and consider Pansy's back alley advice for the next time."

Harry feels his spirit lift and he rethinks punching Theo—something tells him he should be grateful, for the first time ever, that he's got Slytherins on his side. He considers Lucius Malfoy, a man who hates him to his very core, painting him up as a hero in his own newspaper, even though the idea of it probably gives him heartburn. He thinks of Pansy Parkinson, who would probably still step over his corpse for free gum but interrupted her honeymoon anyway just to bail him out. He thinks of Theodore Nott, a person he's had about two conversations with in his entire life, a person he's always written off as an afterthought, putting his own job on the line just for Harry's sake.

_No_, he realizes. Not Harry's sake. Draco's sake. And the fact that those two are becoming the same thing gives him more hope than he can fully handle.

* * *

Draco still isn't speaking to him the next morning, but it's okay because after morning comes afternoon, and afternoon is when Draco promised to help him find a new place.

Harry tries to keep busy as the hours seem to pass by incredibly slowly. Draco is, as usual, fairly absent from the floor, only emerging every so often to ask after Zacharias, who came in to work early but hasn't been seen since. Ginny is treating Draco with barely concealed contempt, still smarting about Zacharias' fight with her and Draco's obliviousness to it, and she's testy about missing the entire Auror drama the day before.

"God, I can't believe I missed Pansy parading around the Ministry of Magic in a bikini," Ginny moans, and Corner sighs wistfully beside her.

"Me too. Hey!" Continuing her violent streak, Ginny smacks him on the shoulder and then refuses to speak to _him_, too, for the rest of the morning.

"Is there anyone in this hospital you're speaking to?" Harry asks her, amused. Ginny glares at him.

"No, because this hospital is full of idiots. Zacharias needs to get the fuck over it, Draco needs to stop pretending that none of us matter, and you need to—well, I dunno what you need to do, but _something_. Your existence is just pissing me off lately."

"You don't need to take care of them all the time, you know," Harry says gently, ready for another glare and perhaps a smack.

"They're my friends," Ginny sighs mournfully. "And everything's so messed up. I just wish boys knew how to talk to each other."

"So by not talking to them, you're teaching them?"

"Shut up."

No progress is actually made that morning, though; Zacharias remains MIA and Draco continues to bitch about his absence. As lunchtime rolls around, he seems to shake himself out of caring about it and presents himself to Harry promptly at Station One, looking tired but agreeable enough, for once.

"Right, let's see what atrocious flea pits your no doubt inadequate real estate agent has picked for you," Draco drawls, but he's not scowling or even shunning Harry, and so Harry grins broadly at him.

His real estate agent is a parent of one of Hermione's favorite students, a tall, kindly-looking man with graying brown hair and glasses. Draco snorts quietly upon seeing him, and Harry can only imagine how this is going to go, and he wishes he weren't too blinded by attraction to be annoyed about it.

"Don't be a snob," Harry manages to mutter, and Draco screws up his best, angelically innocent look and hurries to shake the realtor's hand.

In the end, though, snob or not, Harry is extremely grateful that Draco is with him, and not just because of how crazy he is for him. The realtor squeezes in about six or so flats, most of them around London or within the city itself, and Draco manages to find something wrong with just about every single one, things that Harry never would've thought of, but is grateful to have pointed out to him.

"Ugh, you won't last a second in a wizard-exclusive building, not in this neighborhood, Harry," Draco scolds as Harry becomes enamored with a one-bedroom on the fifth floor of a magically-disguised building. "These are all Ministry workers and middle-class hero-worshippers—the kind of people you definitely don't want going through your rubbish. Next!"

Amused, Harry watches Draco abuse and harass the realtor until the poor bloke looks like he wants to cry. Eventually, though, he realizes that none of this is conducive to him finding a place to live, and he says as much to Draco when the realtor excuses himself to make a fire-call, probably to Hermione to bemoan the fact that she set this up.

"Well it's a good thing I thought of that, isn't it?" Draco drawls mysteriously, and then with an exaggerated wink, he takes Harry by the arm and Disapparates with him suddenly away.

A bit stunned, it takes Harry a minute to take in his surroundings as they rematerialize. Draco keeps a hand on his arm until he finds his balance, and then gestures around at the huge, open space they're standing in. Harry blinks at bare, cream-colored walls and enormous windows that look out on cloudy Muggle London.

"I know you like open spaces," Draco says quietly. "So I asked around—most of those apartments were too small, Harry, you'd fill up that space way too fast. And this is mixed Muggle and Wizarding, and the wizards who live here are mostly too rich and busy to care about you much—um, Blaise owns this building, but it's not like he has much to do with it, I doubt he even remembers it exists. And—" And now he looks embarrassed, pinking up and rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. Harry feels a slow, warm feeling unfold in his stomach and seep into his body. "And I remember you used to really love my, um, my balcony, back at the flat I used to live in after NEWT year. So, look, this place—" He gestures towards a few short steps that lead to a short hallway and then two big French doors that show a cast iron, pot belly balcony.

Gesturing for Draco to join him, Harry moves over towards it and opens the doors slowly. The flat is high up, at least five stories, and the view is sensational—clear off to the river, miles of city and air and sky stretched out before him, so that Harry has to suck his breath in for a moment. He can picture it at night, lights dancing all around him, and it almost feels like flying, having all this right in front of him, open and there like it's just for him. He can only imagine the look of wonder on his face, and Draco obviously sees it because he's smiling softly and following Harry's gaze.

"It's perfect," Harry breathes out, and Draco chuckles and leans against the iron fencing, looking pleased.

"Well, we can look at the rest of the places that idiot had for you—"

"No," Harry argues, stepping towards the other man quickly. He looks at Draco, pale and bright against the gray, hazy sky, and swallows hard, suddenly picturing mornings sitting out here, drinking coffee and feeding each other breakfast as the sun comes up. He shivers and takes another step closer, hoping Draco doesn't decide to bolt. "No, I want this one."

Draco looks at him oddly. "You haven't even seen the rest of the place, Harry, you can't pick something just for its balcony."

"It's perfect," Harry insists, stepping even closer, but Draco just chuckles again and takes an easy step back, taking Harry by the arm and pulling him back inside.

"Come on, Gryffindor fool, look at the rest."

Draco insists on showing him the two huge bedrooms, the moderately sized eat-in kitchen, the ornate fireplace and enormous, elegant bathrooms, and Harry is extremely satisfied, but nothing is as enchanting as that balcony, or the fact that Draco had specifically found this place because of the balcony, because Harry likes balconies. "You're good at this," Harry tells him, as Draco rattles off information about wizard space and how it's disguised from the Muggles who also live here. "If the Healer thing doesn't pan out, you should go into real estate."

The blond makes a face and then grins lecherously. "Funny, you said the same thing to me ten years ago, except instead of real estate you said I should start an escort service. You can imagine the type of talent I was displaying at the time."

Harry groans inwardly and wishes he could strangle his 18-year-old self. "I was an idiot. That was a shitty thing to say."

"Don't be ridiculous, you weren't calling me a whore. I was very flattered, I like being good at sex." He rolls his eyes. "I keep telling you, de-clawed Potter is very boring—"

"De-clawed Potter is mad about you," Harry says quietly, and quite seriously. Draco loses the amused glint in his eye and freezes, not even reacting as Harry takes his hand. "He can't help it."

"Right, so you're not in your right mind—"

"Why do you find it so hard to believe that I have genuine feelings for you?" Harry asks him insistently. Draco's eyes widen and he immediately gets that cornered, harried look again but Harry doesn't back down. "I don't see that it's such a stretch that you and I could—"

"It hasn't even been that long since you've been back," Draco protests. "You don't even know me."

"Yes, I do," Harry chuckles, stopping when Draco's eyes harden. "I do know you. I know that you're worth feeling like this all the time, worth going after. I just have to make you know that, too."

"I know what I'm worth, Harry," Draco answers, closing his eyes briefly. Harry squeezes his hand and leans closer, until Draco sighs and opens them again. "It's just—every self-preservation instinct I have is telling me to run screaming right now. It feels like this is—going back, you know. I don't want to be the person I was ten years ago, or even the person I was three years ago, with Luna—"

"You aren't, though," Harry tells him. "You're not, and even if you can't realize it, then I do. I mean, even if you were—I was falling in love with that person anyway. Now—"

"Don't say that." Draco sounds hushed and hoarse, and tired again. He looks at Harry pleadingly and shakes his head. "Don't say that to me, that's not—"

"It's the truth," Harry says softly, but he sighs when Draco just continues to look upset, and he doesn't want to ruin today. He wants to take Draco out on the balcony and touch him and kiss him until he can get him to trust in them, but he doesn't want to ruin what they've had all day.

"Let's go back to the hospital," Draco suggests, and this time he's the one squeezing Harry's hand, trying to look reassuring. "I'll contact the building manager about a lease for you, if you'd like."

"Okay," Harry answers, smiling at him until Draco smiles back. Everything still feels unfinished and unsettled, and Harry knows he won't be satisfied until he can put his arms around a completely sober Draco and keep him there. But for now, things still feel good and calm, peaceful, at least, so much so that Harry is reluctant to leave the stillness of this space, and is only willing to do so with Draco beside him.


	9. Part Nine

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, angst, minor character death, some explicit sexual content (fairly tame, though)

**Word Count:** ~7800

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **So here we are, almost at the end! I think you'll like this part, hee, if you can tell by the warnings. Thanks to the few of you who left reviews; I hope I'm keeping your interest, and I'd love it you guys could let me know either way! Thanks again for reading, and enjoy.

**Part Nine**

They Floo to St. Mungo's, and everything shatters.

"Thank God," Ginny says as she sees them both, and Harry realizes with an uneasy jolt that she looks about to cry again. "Oh, Draco, you have to come, I was trying to buzz you but I guess you were out of range—"

"What happened?" Draco demands, going pale.

"It's Iris Baxter, she's—"

"She's not fighting the dampener, is she? That's level six, I can't give her any higher—"

"No, Draco, she's—it's her heart, she's been under too long, Tabitha doesn't think she'll—"

And then Draco's gone, already halfway down the hallway, leaving Harry and Ginny to follow numbly. Harry can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and it's almost like Ron down in Emergency all over again—he knows that look on Ginny's face, can feel the foreboding, heavy air of the ward, recognizes the way all the employees are looking at each other with pity and unease. Iris Baxter is dying, and everybody seems to know it.

Draco is barking out spells and commands when Harry and Ginny reach Iris' room, ordering around Tabitha and a nurse. Harry notes that Iris' magic levels seem to be barely there, the spell is barely pulsing, and he sees that the other spells that are monitoring her are sluggish and slow, too. Tabitha's face is drawn but determined, and she does whatever Draco says as he says it.

"Gin," comes a soft voice, and they turn to see Michael looking apologetic and remorseful. "Brigid is with the parents, we've—we've told them—"

"Oh," Ginny says softly, and then she holds out her arms as Corner suddenly lets out a sob and leans into her. Harry swallows hard and looks back in the room, where Iris looks so small and pale and tired. She looks cold, he realizes, and he has the sudden urge to go in and hug her, to warm her up.

"No," Draco is muttering, and his Wrackspurt is fluttering about his head, as if agitated by his clear distress. The spells are pulsing slower and slower, barely there at all, and Draco suddenly cries out, "Zach, I need you, 240-A!"

There is no answer, and even after a few minutes, Zacharias doesn't Apparate in. Draco lets out a small sound of distress and then snarls, "Keep calling him," to Tabitha. Then he raises his wand, takes a deep breath, and says, in a firm, clear voice, "Stand clear. _Sileo_!"

Iris' body seems to jolt a bit, and Harry realizes he's shocking her, and he goes cold inside. Draco jolts with her, and the nurse reaches for him, but he pulls out of her reach and raises his wand again. "Clear. _Sileo!_"

Another jolt, but the spells do not change; instead, they seem to shrink. Tabitha closes her eyes.

"Draco—"

"No. _Zach_, please, we're losing her! _Sileo_!"

"We should get the parents—"

"ZACH. Please, God, don't do this, it's not her fault—_SILEO_!"

Draco staggers sideways; he's even paler and starting to sweat, and Harry realizes that the spell he's casting is draining him quickly. He moves into the room and starts to approach him, ignoring Ginny's warning and the nurse's wide eyes.

"_Sileo_! Smith, for fuck's sake, just get in here, I can't do this—"

"Draco," Harry whispers, feeling tears sting his eyes, and he reaches out to touch his arm. Draco jumps at the touch but keeps casting.

"_Sileo. Sileo_, fuck, _SILEO_, please—" With a gasp, he nearly goes down, and Harry grabs him tightly and pulls him back. Tabitha sniffs and shakes her head.

"Draco, I'm so sorry. She's—she's gone. I think we should call her parents, they should be with her for the—for the end—"

"No, please," Draco gasps, and he raises his wand and casts one last, desperate, "_SILEO_!"

Nothing—the spells continue to slow, barely there at all now, and Draco stumbles sideways so that Harry has to catch him and haul him back again.

"Come on, Tabby has it from here, let's go to your office."

"No, Harry—"

But Draco's weak, barely staying on his feet, and Harry gives Iris one last, mournful look and then backs out of the room still holding Draco tightly. Ginny gently swoops in and hugs the blond but he flinches back and into Harry, eyes squeezed tightly shut, looking pained and exhausted. Harry tightens his arms around him and pulls him away from the crowd of mournful employees, leading him towards his office.

"Harry," Draco says lowly, sounding small and desperate. Harry has to fight very hard then to keep from crying, and he takes a shuddering breath and keeps going.

"I know, God, I know, Draco. I'm so fucking sorry—"

"No, she's—I need to—" His voice breaks and he moves weakly as if to retreat, and Harry keeps directing him firmly towards the office.

"Shh, it's okay. It's going to be okay, I'm sorry—"

"Zach," he mumbles sorrowfully, and then Harry latches on to the slow burn of anger that rises up inside of him.

"It wasn't your fault, Zach is an _idiot_, you can't think this is because of you. Please, Draco, don't—"

They make it to the office, and Harry gets them inside and then gently lowers Draco onto the white couch, concern growing as he seems to sag into the cushions. Harry sits down next to him and lets him lean into his shoulder, stroking down his arm and realizing that he's shaking slightly.

"What can I get you? Is there something that will help? That spell—"

"I'm—I'm awful at it," Draco whispers, and Harry feels a shudder go through him. "It's—it's incredibly rough, and we only ever use it in desperate situations but I've never been good at it. Zach—" And he breaks off, looking miserable, and Harry squeezes him tightly for a minute, swallowing back of a lump of distress and anger.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Draco, but you did everything you could—please don't blame yourself, okay, I know you, I know what you're thinking, but don't think it, don't—"

"Okay, Harry," Draco says dully, and Harry's heart breaks for him and he squeezes him again but doesn't say anything else.

He's not sure how long they sit there—long enough for the shaking to stop and Draco's breathing to start slowing down. The despair is tangible in the room, and Harry knows exactly what this is going to do to Draco—this is his worst fear come true, and Harry's chest aches at the thought of what must be going through his head, but he's not sure what else he can do besides hold him.

He looks up when there's a knock on the door, and gets even more worried when Draco doesn't even respond, but then Ginny's in the doorway, eyes wide and wet, and she bites her lip apologetically, looking as if she wants to say anything in the world but what she's about to.

"Iris is gone," she whispers sadly, and Harry squeezes his eyes closed again to stop another rush of tears. Draco, again, has no reaction, and Ginny steps into the room and curls up on his other side, pressing her face into his neck. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

The three of them sit there silently for another short while, until the door opens again, this time without a knock, and Harry almost leaps to his feet in anger when he sees that it's Zacharias, wearing lime green robes and holding his Wrackspurt up.

"What happened?" Zacharias asks them, appearing genuinely contrite. "I was standing by in Emergency—I thought I heard you but I figured Brigid was up here—"

"Get out of here, Zach, before I do something I regret," Ginny says warningly, standing up and drawing her wand. Zacharias looks at her, eyes wide.

"What? Ginny, I—"

"Take off your robes," Draco says, so suddenly Harry jumps. He watches, shocked, as Draco stands up, still looking horribly drained and sick, but standing tall and firm beside Ginny.

"What do you mean, take off my—"

"Take off your robes and hand them in to Human Resources," Draco tells him evenly, and Ginny sucks in a breath through her teeth but doesn't say anything. "Iris Baxter is dead, and you're fired."

"_What_?" Zacharias looks as if he'd been punched in the stomach, and even through his satisfaction, Harry can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him. Then he thinks of Draco's pleading, desperate voice calling out for him and forgets about the sympathy.

"You were called to duty and you refused to answer," Draco continues, voice deadly and icy. "You abandoned your shift and let an innocent girl die—"

"What the _fuck_, I was in Emergency, I didn't know she was dying—"

"If you had been here, the floor that you _work on_, you would've known, and you would have been able to help her." Draco falters for a bit, before he looks Zacharias square in the eyes. "You're fired, Mediwizard Smith. I want you to get off my floor, now."

"Bullshit. This is bullshit, you—you can't, you can't fire me—" Zacharias seems truly devastated, pain and anger washing over his face in waves, and as the anger wins out and he advances suddenly on Draco, Harry stands up and moves to his side, Ginny straightening and holding up her wand.

"I can, and I am," Draco says coldly, and he looks awful but resolute—as if he's about to fall over but refusing to let that happen. "You let your personal life affect your work, you let it _dictate _your work, and now a girl is dead and I can't let that slide—"

"_My _personal life? If _you _hadn't paraded around your thing with Potter—"

"Don't you _dare_!" Ginny cries out, heartbroken but determined. "Don't you put this on Harry and Draco, you're the one who's been ignoring us all week, who's been too proud and spiteful to work this out! And now Iris Baxter had to pay for it."

"I can't believe you're taking his side," Zacharias says, the hurt and betrayal on his face tangible. For a second, Ginny looks just as devastated as he does, but it's only a flicker, and she squares her shoulders and stands strong, glaring at back at him unforgivingly.

"There aren't sides anymore," Draco tells him tiredly. "This is done. You've let this get in the way of your professional life, and I can't allow that. Please leave quietly, before I have to call for security."

Both Ginny and Harry flinch at that; for a moment, it seems as though Zacharias may cry. Instead he looks closely at all three of them, swallowing hard, gaze lingering on Draco with such a familiar look of longing that Harry feels his heart go out to him for a moment. Then he ruins it by opening his stupid mouth again, as he locks eyes with Harry. "I hope you're satisfied, Potter, now that you've sufficiently ruined my life."

"Harry was there. You weren't, and that's your fault," Draco snarls, stepping in front of Harry and cutting off Zacharias' hateful glare. "Leave."

He looks at them again, opens his mouth as if to say another hurtful thing, and then turns and stalks out of the room. Ginny starts crying almost immediately, small sobs she presses into her hand, and Harry reaches to give her a hug, looking over at Draco in concern.

"Are you—" he starts, but Draco shakes his head and starts towards his office door.

"I'm going upstairs." Harry starts to protest, wants to follow, but Ginny stops him with a hand wrapped around his arm and a small sound.

"Don't," she whispers. "He needs Luna right now. She'll take care of him."

Harry bites back the ridiculous, irrational _but _I_ want to take care of him _and hugs her again, resting his chin in her fiery hair. She continues to sniffle into his shirt for a few more moments, before she lets out a final, resolute sniff and leans back from.

"Okay," she says, voice wobbly but attempting to find strength somewhere. "Let's get back to work."

Harry stares at her incredulously, and Ginny musters up a small smile and shakes her head.

"It's a hospital, Harry. People die, and we move on. There are other patients." She transfigures a piece of parchment on Draco's desk into a tissue and blows her nose rather messily, and then manages an even bigger smile. She looks brave and calm again, and even though he can't imagine actually just going on after this, she looks like she can.

"But—she—" Iris Baxter was 11 years old. She wrote stories in a notebook, and she thought it might be fun to work for the 'Fibbler' someday. He had been too preoccupied with chasing Draco and beating up Aurors to go and talk to her about Susan Bones again. He hadn't done enough, not nearly enough, not like Draco, who had nearly killed himself fighting for her, and not like the other Healers. He'd been sure he had given up the hero racket after the Aurors, but now faced with the proof of all he'd failed to do, he thinks he didn't manage to give up the guilt that always went along with failure.

Ginny must recognize the guilt starting to overwhelm him—God knows she's seen it before, helped him through it before, and suddenly he's incredibly grateful that she's standing there, that she's able to put her arms around him this time and let him let out shaky breaths against her shoulder. Tears sting his eyes for the third time and he feels incredibly stupid, crying for a girl he doesn't really know, for a hospital ward he doesn't even really work in, for a man who might not even love him back. But the way Ginny shushes him, gentle and comforting, makes him feel like she doesn't think he's stupid—she understands, somehow, Ginny has always understood.

"We're going to figure this out," she whispers to him softly, and Harry can believe her—Ginny never lies to him. And they step out of the office and onto the main floor, where, yes, the staff is still going on; Healers and nurses are conferring sadly but stubbornly, bustling by and shooting each other firm but comforting looks. Tabitha leads a flock of Trainees around Derwent, looking calm and poised again. Corner is talking to a nurse, shooting Ginny a quick look of gratitude but saying nothing else about it. The other nurses are fluttering around, talking quietly to each other, and when Harry overhears one saying, "I heard Draco sacked Smith," he smiles and realizes that there's a lot of comfort to be found in the fact that this floor never changes.

* * *

After the shift, Ginny calls an emergency inter-House bonding session. This basically translates into her, Goyle, Blaise and Theo getting drunk at The Thundering Thestral while Daphne watches and rolls her eyes at them.

"Where's Draco?" she asks rather sensibly. Harry has been asking that question all night, but has been ignored in favor of Firewhiskey and talking about Anything But Work. Ginny squints at her and opens and closes her hand as if it's a duck's bill, quacking too much. Harry grins in amusement and remembers that Ginny Weasley is a mean drunk.

"Most likely with Madame Lovegood," Blaise finally answers her, the slur in his voice only accentuating his drawl. Daphne lets out a frustrated snort and then looks accusingly at Harry.

"And what do you have to say about that, hm? This isn't helping The Plan, Potter, honestly. This is a prime seduction opportunity."

Harry immediately gets annoyed, glaring at the pregnant witch and grateful for his own sensible sobriety to match hers. "That's disgusting. I am _not _going to use this as a way to seduce him, Daphne. He's really torn up about this—he nearly killed himself casting that spell over and over, and I'm not going to make it worse by pressuring him again."

Instead of looking chastised, though, Daphne just rolls her eyes, and Harry has to fight to remind himself that she's the nice one. "Oh please. Did it ever occur to you Draco has a big kink for comfort sex? Mark my words, he's probably drunk and looking for a shag as we speak, and where are you? Here, with these pathetic sods, instead of there, being the bringer of said shag. It's true what they say about Gryffindors having nothing but air between their ears, isn't it?"

"Stop it, that's sick," Harry argues, even as flashes of ten years ago wash through his memory: Draco after fights with his father, worried letters from his mother, bullying and rejection from Healing schools, and always seeking out Harry specifically after, the only times he ever did. Harry doesn't consider what they did then 'comfort sex': it was always rough and ragged, just the way it always had been. But maybe Draco had; maybe that's what he considers to be comfort sex.

The thought of him with Luna now, seeking _that _from Luna, makes his fists clench and his jaw tighten, and Daphne smirks knowingly and not unkindly.

"Harry," she says softly, shocking him into looking at her. "I know Draco. If he does something with Luna, he'll regret it in the morning. He'll regret ruining this…_whatever_ with you. Go to him."

"I don't know his address," Harry says weakly, aware he's standing up anyway. Daphne rolls her eyes again.

"Ridiculous—not even anything as substantial as air in there, it's probably antimatter—I can _give_ you his address, moron."

And that is how he comes to be standing outside of Draco's Kensington townhouse, feeling guilty and ridiculous and uncertain, trying very hard to force his hand up to the ornate door-knocker and use it. He can't see any lights on through the front windows and wonders if that means Luna and Draco are having sex. Tells himself it doesn't because Draco doesn't like sex with the lights off, he's much too vain for it.

The knocker is in the shape of some kind of bird, possibly a rooster. It looks rather kitschy for Draco's taste, and he idly wonders how Draco had come to live in the townhouse. _Okay, Harry, you can ask him if you just knock on the bloody door_, he tells himself reasonably, but still just continues to examine the knocker, deciding it would look much more attractive painted over in bronze instead of the pale silver it is now. _Yes, go in there and give him decorating tips_, he scolds himself, rolling his eyes, and he reaches for the knocker and then falters, again.

Because what if they're having sex? Does he really want to interrupt pale, blond inter-House sex? _Yes and no_, he decides, and then he scowls and resolves to stop talking to himself so much. Harry raises his hand again, plucking up that famous Gryffindor courage, and he's almost there when the choice is taken away from him. The door swings open and Harry nearly falls down the front steps in surprise.

Luna is, thank the heavens, fully clothed, and looks slightly amused. She's taken off her work robes and seems casual and comfortable in a loose, gauzy dress and bare feet, but she looks well put-together and definitely not like someone who's just indulged in a comfort shag. Especially not with the way Draco shags people, Harry knows, even as he catches himself checking her visible skin for bite marks anyway.

"Er," Harry says, and Luna smiles at him as if she knows exactly what he's thinking. The problem is that she probably does. He shifts uneasily until she moves back into a large, high-ceilinged foyer and gestures for him to follow.

"I'll just get my things," she says softly, and Harry moves in gratefully as she backs up through the foyer. She disappears from sight for a moment, ducking into a hallway, and he stands there awkwardly, slightly unnerved by the stillness of the house. The air smells sort of stiff and stale, as if it hasn't been occupied much, and Harry wonders briefly how much Draco has been home lately.

Luna pads back into sight, robes flung over one arm and clutching her shoes in her other hand. She smiles at him again, looking tired but calm, and she lifts onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for coming. He won't seem grateful, but he will be."

"Luna, I don't even know—" But Luna shushes him quickly with a finger on his mouth, shaking her head.

"You have good instincts, Harry. Just being here is half enough." Harry doesn't quite believe her, is too far out of his comfort zone to believe her, but she's gone before he can get any more words out. He's left to wonder just how many times he can say "It's not your fault" without the words losing their meaning, and wishing he knew what the fuck he's doing.

Still hesitant but uneasy with the idea of Draco being alone for too long, he wanders down the hallway that Luna had ducked into, feeling goosebumps prick his arms as he moves past shadowed walls. There's very little light, just enough flickering from a room that he's moving towards, and just enough that he can barely make out pictures on the walls—moving Wizarding photos of various Slytherins and St. Mungo's coworkers.

A picture of Draco, Ginny and Zacharias gives him pause for a moment, watching as the tiny figure of Zacharias hides in one corner of the frame while the other two scowl at him, and Harry swallows hard, knowing that Draco isn't just mourning Iris Baxter tonight. _This was an awful idea_, he thinks, and then he sucks in a breath and pushes open the lit-up door at the end of the hall.

It's a bright room—brighter than Harry had pictured, but he should know by now how Draco doesn't like darkness. Lit up by oil lamps, an enormous fireplace, and probably an extra-strong _lumos_, it's a grand sitting room that Harry would guess belongs to anybody _but _Draco Malfoy.

The room is utter chaos—and not _Draco on a rampage, destroying everything _chaos, but an organized, systematic chaos that smells like Hermione's homework-filled apartment, with more desperation. Piles and piles of what look to be medical texts litter every flat surface of the room; a tea table is strewn with parchment and broken quills. A full, luxurious four-piece living room set is surrounded by texts, and Harry can't imagine Draco being able to stand one second in this room without going spare. Draco, who organizes his underwear by style, color, and frequency of wear, would never abide by this kind of…_common clutter_.

But it must belong to Draco, because it is Draco who is lying flat on his back on the couch in the center of the room, his feet propped up on a stack of books softened by a paisley throw cushion. He's cradling a bottle of brandy and looks quite mad, actually, hair blown every which way, nose red and quivery, and Harry's heart hurts just looking at him.

"Oh, Draco…"

Startled, Draco cranes his neck to look at Harry upside down, squinting hazily at him.

"Hello, Luna. You're looking taller and more doltish."

"Luna left," Harry whispers, shuffling his feet a bit awkwardly as he realizes that Draco's wearing a sweater vest, a button down, and nothing but boxers the rest of the way down. It looks absurd and adorable, and it makes Harry want to shake him and cuddle him at the same time. Draco squints some more, bending his neck at a what must be painful angle.

"Yes, I didn't _really _think you were Luna. I can tell the difference." He gestures around himself in broad, uneven strokes, encompassing, Harry guesses, the mess of the room and the lack of trousers. "You weren't supposed to see this, you know. This is my crazy, I'm not entirely comfortable with you looking at it like that."

"Like what?" Harry wonders.

"Like you _like _it." Draco frowns, looking thoughtful and troubled and drunk. He clumsily picks up the bottle of brandy and seems to ponder how he can drink from it lying down without spilling it; before he can come up with a solution, Harry whips out his wand and Summons it away, leaving Draco to squawk at him in upside down outrage. "_Hey_, my spirits!"

And that's all it takes, really—just a glimpse of Draco's pink face, looking as betrayed as if Harry had stolen from him a precious heirloom, to set Harry off laughing in the middle of the crazy sitting room. It's not really funny, actually—none of it is, not Draco's horrible coping methods, or the fact that Harry still doesn't quite know what to do, or the fact that they're in what looks like a mad scientist's labyrinth library and that ill-advised comfort sex may or may not be imminent.

And yet it _is_—it's really fucking funny, and Harry can't really stand it, for that moment, as he doubles over and Draco splutters into weak, hacking laughs that grow to rival his. Because he's never going to know the right thing to say, and Draco's never going to want the right thing out of him, and it was so stupid to be so nervous when this is _Malfoy_, at the very core, ignoring the Draco that saved Ron and who feels like the planet Harry orbits around lately. Underneath all that this is Malfoy, who would punch him just as soon as he would fuck him, and is too scared to do either now.

Harry stops laughing long enough to take a fortifying swig of brandy, before he throws himself onto a pile of yellowing parchment on an easy chair and makes himself comfortable.

* * *

"It kind of reminds me of the Room of Requirement," Draco tells him soberly, once they've made it halfway through the bottle of brandy and are therefore able to form fairly coherent, non-hysterical sentences again. "Like I'm—I'm fixing that fucking cabinet again. 'Cept it's not working."

Harry shudders and clutches the bottle tight in his hands, looking around at the awful prison of research Draco has enclosed himself in. This was probably a wonderful place to sit and relax in once, Harry reckons. More high ceilings, a calm, peach-toned color scheme, lush and squishy carpets. Harry can imagine lounging in here with a nice cup of coffee and a newspaper, and silently vows to fix it up so that it can be that way again.

"I can't believe the house-elves let it get this way," he says wondrously, looking in distaste at the piles and piles of knowledge strewn about, oppressive in their quantity. Draco snorts into his knees; he had sat up a little while ago and now looks a little less like a pale, pink dead thing.

"If you meet my house-elf, you'll understand," Draco tells him, and then he looks around at the room with a strange, sick fondness that worries Harry on several different levels. "I dunno. I kinda like it. It's like my brain exploded all over the sitting room." He grins suddenly and maniacally. "My father would have a _stroke_, oh my God."

"I'd hope your father were made of tougher stuff than that." He _would_ like to get a picture of the look on Lucius' face after ten minutes in this insanity, though. Draco cackles, as if knowing exactly what he's thinking, and Harry shoves the brandy down a seat cushion, deciding that it's not helping with the hysteria anymore.

"I can't believe you're here," Draco says thoughtfully once he's contained himself, still eyeing the room. Harry blinks at him.

"Um, I don't know if you remember, but I'm not exactly a pillar of cleanliness myself—"

"No, not the room." He sounds impatient and harried now, and he's squinting again in a way that makes Harry wonder if he's starting to need glasses. "I mean, _here_. With me. After today, and what I—if you'd told me this ten years ago—fuck, three months ago—"

"Ten years ago I wouldn't even know what was wrong, and we'd be fucking already," Harry points out, wanting to curtail another session of _really, Potter, with the _feelings_ and whatnot? _Draco eyes him warily and shifts a bit in his seat and then looks down at his lap.

"I don't know where my trousers went."

"Er. They were off when I got here—"

"Exactly. And we still haven't fucked." Now Draco just looks incredulous, and Harry would give all the gold in Gringotts to figure out what he's thinking right now. "I don't understand you."

"I don't _want _to just fuck you, Draco, how many times do I have—"

"I'm not the person you think I am," Draco insists loudly, with the pointed, stubborn conviction of the intoxicated. Harry starts to cut in but Draco talks right over him, of course, the way he likes to, the way he thinks is his right. "I didn't get into this for the—for the warm fuzzy feelings inside, or the do no harm shit. I'm a Healer because I thought it would get me respect. And I'm obviously not even successful at that, right, because people still hate me—"

"Oh, sod off with the self-pity," Harry moans. "I'm so sick of it. You've got a floor full of employees who would lay down in front of a herd of rampaging centaurs for you—not to mention a group of friends who'd do the same. Well, the Slytherins would probably figure out a way to maybe poison the centaurs first, and Luna would probably wind up having sex with one, but—look, if that's not respect, then I don't know what you fucking want. Never mind, no, it's not respect, it's loyalty, and that's something I know that you know about, _Malfoy_."

Draco wrinkles his nose. "Ugh, don't use that word, that's so sickeningly Hufflepuff—"

"_You're _sickeningly Hufflepuff," Harry grins, and revels in the way Draco gives a full-body shudder at the thought.

"Stop it, Harry, you're making me ill." He gets quiet again, and Harry can probably guess what particular Hufflepuff he's thinking of, but he doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know what to say and also because he doesn't think he needs to. Draco shakes himself a bit and then looks at Harry closely again. "I just—I want to be sure that you're sure."

Harry sucks in a hopeful breath, wide-eyed, and tries not to jet out of his seat. "I'm—fuck, I'm sure. I'm sure that I'm sure."

Draco smiles, small but real, and shakes his head. "It's such a bad idea."

"I'm a Gryffindor," Harry reminds him, hope tingeing every word. "Bad ideas are kind of my thing."

"But _I _am a Slytherin, and I always have the best ideas," he retorts loftily, and then he's eyeing Harry in a whole different way—soft and calculating and slightly fearful, and Harry sucks in another breath. "I have one right now. I'll need your input, though, because it has the potential to be a very bad idea, too."

"Try me," Harry breathes, and Draco grins a little shakily and jerks his head to the side.

"Come here."

Slowly, as though approaching something scared and skittish and ready to bolt, Harry makes his way over to the couch, sitting down tentatively next to Draco on soft, fine fabric. He inhales the scents of poncy apple shampoo and doubt and the hospital, and moves even closer. This time, though, it's Draco who moves the rest of the way—he shifts onto his knees and then presses his mouth firmly to Harry's, sweet and slow and hesitant.

Harry lets him, Harry kisses back after a beat, and Harry opens his mouth with a soft, small groan and feels every part of himself come alive as Draco's tongue nudges past his lips.

He'd never really appreciated Draco's kisses before, something he's kicking himself for now. Draco kisses in a devouring sort of way, almost like every kiss might be his last, or something a little less sickeningly Hufflepuff than that. Even now, when he's being soft and tentative, his tongue still makes sure, swift movements that steal Harry's breath and tighten his trousers. His teeth scrape lightly against Harry's bottom lip, and his pointed nose nudges the side of Harry's as he bumps closer. He bites, of course he bites, but just a small, curious nibble, one that has Harry smiling into the kiss and deepening it further with his own tongue.

He pulls back when Draco pulls back, breathing slightly hard, and takes in blown pupils and an even pinker face, and he's aware he's smiling like a fool but doesn't really care all that much. Draco swallows hard, searching Harry's face, and then gives him a tiny smile. "Well?"

Harry blinks, and has to clear his throat to focus on something other than wonderfully swollen lips. "Well what?"

"Good idea?" Draco looks…shy, and hopeful, and a little scared, and Harry feels his heart soar. It's like flying, no, better than flying, better than balconies and open skies. It's like hopping off a broom and knowing there's no chance you'll hit the ground.

"Good idea," he insists, and he leans in again and Draco meets him in the middle, more nose bumping and biting and licking into plump mouths.

He's never appreciated these kisses, but he's appreciating the hell out of them now, pressing closer and leaning in so that Draco's leaning back, hands up and around Harry's biceps and firm and _sure_, finally fucking sure. This one isn't soft but is still slow, and it gives Harry the courage to drift his mouth down and suck a small mark along Draco's jawline, making him gasp.

"Oh…" And then Draco's shoving him back, rising up further on his knees to be nearly straddling him, boxers hiding not even a bit of his arousal, and he's swooping down and in and _biting _at Harry's neck, sucking and licking and then back up to his jaw and then mouth for a kiss, back down to the neck and mumbling, "Yes, I am a _genius_, have the best ideas, mmm," and Harry can't help it, he laughs at the thought of Draco _claiming _this after weeks of refusal. But he'll let him, he'll let him claim anything, he'll let him claim Harry if it means he'll keep doing that with his mouth.

Wicked hands are deftly popping open shirt buttons, and soon Draco's fair head is bobbing down to Harry's bared chest, licking at what he uncovers there. Harry gasps and sifts his fingers through soft, tousled strands of hair and rocks his hips up into Draco's nearly bare thighs, content for now to let him explore on his own but knowing he's going to want to touch him more, and _soon_. Draco's tongue circles at a nipple and he's still fucking mumbling, and that makes Harry rumble another laugh even as he clamps his fingers in Draco's hair and pulls him up for another bruising kiss.

It takes maneuvering, some flailing, and Draco curses _a lot_, just as much as he ever did, but Harry manages to yank the sweater vest over Draco's head and tug his button down off after it. He pauses for a second to look at Draco, hair even crazier, eyes wild and narrow chest heaving, and it's a second too long because then Draco's growling and launching himself back at Harry's chest, colliding skin on skin with a groan that goes straight to Harry's cock.

Harry touches, Harry licks and sucks and feels his lapful of warm Draco, tonguing at scars and marks and suddenly feeling entirely overwhelmed by the fact that he _has this_, oh God, it's all right here on top of him, and he wonders how he could've ever given this up before. He's clutching at Draco's back and breathing hard and there's a muffled curse and a, "Fuck, Potter, get a move on," and a whispered spell and he's suddenly trouserless, blinking up at a smug blond and a wicked smile.

"Harry," Draco purrs breathlessly, and he never shuts up, never, and Harry steals the rest of his words with a hissing kiss and rocks up again, Draco panting and jerking to meet him. They grind together desperately, Draco's arms wrapped tight around his neck and breathing into his ear and he's whimpering, Harry's groaning, and everything is bright and hot and _flying_.

Draco fumbles with their boxers and then grasps their erections with hot, long fingers and Harry nearly sobs with relief, and they crest up, up, rising with the heat and the breaths and the touches and "Harry, Harry, _Harry _oh God—!" And Harry's eyes are closed but no, no, he can't miss this, he forces them open and _sees_: blond and pale and pink and gray and everything he's ever dreamed of.

Draco gasps and locks eyes with him, and then dips his head and _bites _right into Harry's shoulder—and Harry roars and _comes_, everything flying into sharp, bright focus, everything bigger and brilliant as Draco muffles a scream and follows him into sticky, messy oblivion.

He collapses down into the mess on Harry's stomach and lap, breathing marathon-hard, and mouths very gently at the bite mark he'd made, while his partner blinks and pants and tries to see past the stars in his eyes. Harry works a hand gently up to the back of Draco's neck, cupping it and stroking his fingers there, still breathing harshly, and only speaks when Draco starts to shake in his grip.

"Mm?"

"A genius," Draco sighs, chuckling helplessly, and Harry lets a brilliant grin light across his face and holds him close.

* * *

Harry wakes up with pins and needles in most of his body and a small puddle of drool on his chest underneath where Draco's cheek is resting against it. In spite of this, he feels a soppy smile stretch over his mouth and lightly trails his fingers up and down Draco's smooth back, looking at the top of his fair hair fondly.

Draco lets out a small, sleepy gurgle but otherwise doesn't stir.

He remembers that Draco had always been horrified in the mornings after, and not because of any guilt or crisis of conscience or anything sensible like that. No, Draco believes that he's an extremely unattractive sleeper—there's the drooling thing, and the gurgling, and sometimes he snores. He mumbles a lot too, which totally humiliates him. All of those things had been endearing to Harry, even back then. He liked the way Draco slept with his mouth wide open—it fit, somehow, because Draco's mouth is rarely closed when he's awake.

Knowing that he'll get a solid thumping for watching Draco drool like this, but unable to tear his eyes away from the, yes, still endearing sight, Harry watches Draco's slumbering face for a few more moments before heaving a sigh and forcing himself to pay attention to the way Draco's knee is pressing against his bladder, creating a different sort of problem. Carefully, he shifts out from underneath Draco and helps him drop gently onto the couch, before grabbing the first pair of boxers he sees and heading to find a bathroom.

He follows morning sunlight through large, tastefully decorated hallways and finds a small guest bathroom not far down from the crazy sitting room. Every room he spots is far neater than Draco's den of towering enlightenment, and he's glad to see that that uncharacteristic show of disorder hadn't permeated the rest of the house. The place reeks of money and class, of course, but Harry smiles at the small, neurotic signs that this is Draco's place: a meticulously stocked potions cupboard down the hall, scribbled notes and reminders stuck just about _everywhere_, a calendar still reading September but filled to bursting with circled dates and messages.

There's sound coming from further down the hall, where Harry can see a wide doorway opening to a dining room, attached railroad style to an enormous kitchen. Harry pads towards it curiously, idly scratching his stomach and wondering how Draco had snuck past him. But Draco isn't in the kitchen; the only occupant is a short, squashed-looking house-elf with dazed eyes and wearing a clean, pressed pillowcase, muttering in a squeaky, feminine to herself as she beats eggs furiously in a huge bowl. As Harry comes close enough to discern her mutterings, he smiles to himself, because she sounds eerily like Draco in a snit.

"Master Draco must be _telling _Nilly when he is being home, he is never being home anymore, how is Nilly supposed to be having breakfast for Master Draco when Nilly is not even knowing that he is—"

"Hi," Harry says cheerfully, stepping into the kitchen.

With a strange cross between a squeak and a shriek, the elf jumps about three feet in the air and turns wide, terrified eyes on Harry. The bowl of eggs clatters to the floor and the finely tiled kitchen floor is suddenly covered in raw egg. Harry and the elf stare at each other for a minute, but before Harry can apologize for scaring her, her enormous eyes roll back into her squashed face and she collapses into the puddle of eggs.

"Bugger," Harry swears, lunging forward to kneel next the creature's limp body. "No, no, no, please tell me I didn't kill his house-elf." He winces as his bare knees slap into gooey yolk but leans forward anyway, prodding gently at the still form. "Hey, uh. Nilly, hey. Please wake up. I'm sorry I scared you."

"She'll be out for another three hours," Draco sighs, and Harry quickly looks up to see him standing in the doorway, wearing a shirt Harry recognizes as his own and looking far too amused for Harry's liking. He scowls up at the blond, not moving from beside Nilly.

"I can't believe that Hermione has let you terrorize this house-elf so much that she—"

"Oh, don't blame me!" Draco holds up his hands and raises his eyebrows, wide eyes the picture of incredulous innocence. "It's not my fault she's a little freak." When Harry continues to glare, he sighs again and chuckles ruefully. "No, I'm serious. She's, um. She's narcoleptic." He looks like he's fighting back a louder bark of laughter for sensitivity's sake. Harry stares between the, yes, peacefully slumbering house-elf and her master in disbelief.

"Narcoleptic? I've never heard of a narcoleptic house-elf." He suddenly has terrible visions of Draco and Luna performing all sorts of experiments on house-elves for the good of magical medical science, and the horror must show on his face because Draco finally gives in to his laughter.

"Oh I know, yes, she's very unique. Um, do you remember that scandal when Blaise slept with the, uh, the Minister's allegedly underage daughter?" As Harry blinks at him uncomprehendingly, Draco scowls and seems to go off a bit. "Sixteen my arse, that girl had a body like a Knockturn Alley—"

"Draco."

"Right. So, anyway, the Prophet scooped the Quibbler on it and of course my father was furious, especially since Blaise is one of ours and we should've been the first to hear it. So he, uh, went on one of his curse-casting rages at the Manor and Nilly just, well, she didn't get out of the way in time—"

"Draco!"

"I'm serious!" Draco holds up his hands again, and Harry feels a small smile involuntarily creep across his face, as he shakes his head and looks down at the elf once more. Indeed, she appears to be just sleeping comfortably enough on the floor, her long, thin nose wiggling a bit as she snores. Still, the sight of a house-elf lying so still like that gives Harry an awful feeling in his gut, and Draco must realize it, because very quickly he's standing over them with his wand out, Vanishing the egg mess and levitating Nilly up off the floor. "She's fine, I'm telling you. And look, Granger suggested I make these—"

A small pantry door opens across the room, revealing a tiny bunker with a few blankets tucked into it. Draco lays Nilly on top of the blankets and, catching Harry's look, leaves the door open for her. He gives Harry a bright, sleepy smile. "Those are all over the house—I mean, she's absolutely useless, of course, but Father was going to, um, put her down—and by that I mean, you know, put her down south in the, ah, house-elf farm—"

"So, old people and young children and narcoleptic house-elves. Who else do you champion for, Draco?" Harry asks him, full-on grinning now. Draco balks and starts to argue, but Harry quickly stands and reaches out to pull Draco against him. Draco blinks at him, before a slow, wicked smile curls up his lips and he presses his body solidly against Harry's. Harry's hands clutch at warm, soft skin and he leans in for a quick good morning snog.

"We'll have to fend for ourselves for breakfast," Draco breathes out when Harry leans back. He glances up at the big clock on the kitchen wall and sighs, a bit of the spark and mirthfulness going out of his eyes. Harry squeezes him a bit. "I have to get to the hospital soon. God, yesterday seems like a hundred years ago."

"Let's not think of it yet," Harry suggests, drifting his hands down to Draco's bare, rounded backside and cupping two handfuls that make Draco's eyes widen. Harry hums contentedly and mouths gently at Draco's long, narrow neck, reveling in the way the slim body flexes against him in response. "Mm, so, breakfast? I see what I want right here. No elves required."

"Oh," Draco gasps, and then he's smirking and tilting himself back. "I liked you on your knees before, you know. You might find something else you'd like there."

"Not a bad idea." Without a moment of hesitation, Harry drops back down to his knees, feeling Draco shiver in response. He eyes Draco's long, pink cock poking from underneath his shirt tails and grins up at him. "Breakfast of champions."


	10. Part Ten

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, sexual content

**Word Count:** ~7200

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Only one more part to go after this one! I am going to miss this story, even though I've got some other things planned for it to follow up. Anyway, thank you very much for your kind reviews; I'm glad to see you guys are still interested, and I hope that you'll continue to let me know what you think.

**Part Ten**

They wind up being very nearly late for their shifts—something that horrifies Draco even after their decidedly satisfying breakfast in the townhouse kitchen. As Draco runs around his much neater bedroom, picking out clothes to lend out and hurling them at Harry, Harry considers telling him about the enormous hickey on his neck, or about the fact that his hair is sticking up Harry-style, but decides against it. He figures the staff of Bugs is going to talk anyway; might as well give them something to talk about.

Draco must realize what it looks like when Harry follows him out of his office first thing in the morning, having Flooed there straight from the townhouse. Harry takes his silence and acquiescence as a statement of sorts, and flushes with the pleasure of knowing that Draco doesn't want to hide this.

He does heave a huge sigh when everyone stops their morning work and turns to stare at them, before immediately breaking out into loud, not even remotely discreet chatter. Ginny grins broadly at the two of them and Corner wolf-whistles loudly. Draco glares at them for a minute and then, to Harry's utter shock and delight, a very small smile appears on his face, and everyone starts laughing at him. Suddenly it's one of those gossip sessions that work to just bring everyone together, and Harry feels a burst of warmth and affection for everyone on the floor.

It's probably one of the best mornings he's had in recent memory, and the short, firm and reassuring kiss Draco gives him before retreating back to his office is just the icing on the cake. So of course it stands to reason that things start to go south soon after, because that's just the way things are.

Sometime before mid-morning rounds, Draco joins Harry and Ginny at Station One, rolling his eyes when he realizes that Ginny's badgering Harry for details of the night before and Harry won't budge. He holds up a piece of parchment and waves it to catch their attention.

"Hi, yes, remember we're at work? I know, it's a difficult concept for you to grasp—"

"Don't start, Draco, you got laid last night," Ginny moans. "That gives us all amnesty from bitchy Draco for a few days, at least. Please."

"Nurse Weasley," Draco intones in an overly clipped, formal voice that has them both rolling their eyes. "Please ask Healer Crowley to conduct rounds this morning, I have to go to an emergency board meeting—"

"What? Why?" Ginny demands, losing all the humor in her face and voice. Harry eyes them both worriedly.

"Are you in trouble?"

Still frowning, Draco shakes his head, and Harry notes the uncertainty in his eyes, despite his words. "No, I don't think so. Honestly, it makes sense that this is finally getting board attention—losing a high profile patient like that wasn't going to go unnoticed for long. I'm actually surprised they didn't do this yesterday. Not to mention the issue of Zacharias—that will definitely come under review, though I doubt they'll challenge my decision much."

"You were right, Draco," Ginny tells him firmly, and the way Draco glances up and nods at her gratefully tells Harry how much he needed to hear that. "Zach was out of line. He's—he's my friend but I understand why you had to do that. If it were one of my nurses I'd have done the same."

"Thanks, Gin. So, yeah, just hold down the fort while I'm gone. It should be fine." He squeezes Harry's arm and gives them both a small smile, before turning to head towards the lifts. Before he can get far, though, Harry grabs his elbow and stops him.

"Hey. It'll be fine, right?" He searches Draco's face, watching discomfort inch into the uncertainty already there. He knows that despite the pleasantness of the morning, Draco is far from being totally without reservations about what they're doing together, especially in public, and Harry's okay with that. But he likes that Draco won't flinch away anymore, and he likes that he can touch him and look at him like this when he's upset or nervous. He hopes that Draco likes it, too.

"It will, Harry," Draco says, trying for a brighter smile. Harry smiles back and then pulls out his wand.

"Um. As adorable as I think it looks, ah, maybe you'd want me to heal that?" As Draco closes his eyes and groans in exasperation, Harry holds back a laugh and spells away the hickey on Draco's neck.

"Hate you. Hate you _so _much," Draco mumbles, and Harry grins and presses a quick kiss to the healed spot.

"No, you don't," Harry breathes out, beaming at him, and the soft, warm glow that seeps into Draco's eyes is the stuff of dreams.

The glow is gone completely nearly two hours later, when Draco returns to the ward looking stiff and haggard and, worst of all, resigned.

"Gin," he says quietly, avoiding Harry's eyes in a way that gets his back up immediately. "Please have the Derwent nurses prep the Hogwarts patients for transfer. Have Brigid oversee Paul Toledo specifically—his case is the most advanced now, and the most dangerous."

"I will _not_," Ginny fumes, planting her hands on her hips. "Are you out of your mind? Transfer them to where?"

"Draco," Harry interjects softly, and Draco finally and reluctantly meets his eyes—bright gray dulled by trepidation and uncertainty and awful, awful fear that makes Harry want to hurt whoever caused it. "What happened?"

"The board has reviewed the case and decided that the children should be transferred to Spell Damage," Draco tells them stoically and stiffly, though his face is anything but. Harry swallows hard and goes to reach for him and feels a jolt of his own fear when Draco shakes his head quickly and backs away. Ginny swears.

"And you're just going to let them? They belong here!"

"No, they don't, Ginny. Not if this isn't a magical disease or bug. The board is right; we've done all we can for them, and we've already lost one patient—"

"That's bullshit, you _tried_—" But Draco cuts Ginny off, suddenly squaring his shoulders and meeting her gaze unflinchingly.

"Nurse Weasley," he bites out, and Ginny freezes at the hard, cold tone of his voice. "The board is correct. We've spent weeks on this case, and we haven't fixed anything. The Healers in Spell Damage are more experienced with this kind of—"

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"Do _not _interrupt me!" Draco barks, and Ginny stops again, shocked. Harry's stomach fills with ice at the way they're looking at each other, Ginny red-faced and _pissed_, Draco hard and unyielding. He can only imagine how that board meeting had gone, what kind of hits Draco's pride had taken—the last thing he needs is insubordination from Ginny. On the other hand, they're friends just as much as they are co-workers, and it probably hurts to hear Draco speak to her like that.

"Ginny, let him talk," Harry whispers, and Ginny immediately turns burning, betrayed eyes on him.

"The board is right," Draco says for the third time, and Harry fucking hates that, knowing what kind of shit the board must have piled on him. "This has happened before—when one department fails to successfully treat a patient, other departments step in. This is not a personal insult to us, this is not a punishment, this is hospital policy. I'm not in any position to dispute it, and neither are you. I honestly agree with the ruling. This isn't the first time I've failed, Ginny, and you don't have to protect me from it." His voice wavers a bit at the end, and this time he lets Harry take his arm gently.

Ginny snorts derisively, glaring up at him. "So you're just going to give up, then? This isn't fair, they can't do this to you."

"This isn't about me. It's not about you, either, or Michael or Tabitha or fucking Zacharias. It's about the patients, and what's best for the patients, and finding a way to cure them. So, look, give the orders and help with the preparations and then drop it. There's nothing you can do, and I won't discuss it again."

"Fine." She snaps up a pile of charts on the counter and starts stalking towards the Derwent Ward, still vibrating with a rage that tells Harry she won't be speaking to anyone for the rest of the day. She rounds on them one final time and, eyes shining, lobs out her parting shot. "I don't know why I expected any different from a coward like you."

"Ginny!" Harry shouts, but the redhead ignores him and heads off, and Draco sighs heavily beside him.

"Leave her, she'll figure out she's being unreasonable soon enough," Draco says wearily, and he's looking at Harry with that awful mix of trepidation and doubt again, as if he's expecting him to share Ginny's reaction. Harry scowls at him and wonders what he's going to have to do to make Draco learn what _mad for you_ means.

"Was it really bad?"

Sighing again, Draco nods, and for a second he looks truly pathetic. "They're right, Harry. They're absolutely right."

It only takes a second longer for Harry to see through him—half a second and then he's pressing Draco up against the counter, relishing his shocked expression. "Sure. You're not really giving up though, are you?"

Another second. And then Draco's grinning brilliantly, devilishly and so fucking _Slytherin _Harry feels his cock twitch in his trousers. "_Fuck_, no. The board can go fuck themselves. I can't stand that the patients have to be turfed up to that zoo, but I knew it was going to be unavoidable. Not gonna stop me from solving this, though."

"Brilliant," Harry breathes out, matching Draco's grin. "What do you need me to do?"

Draco's grin remains purely evil, bloodthirsty in that way Harry loves so damn much, and it's so hot he doesn't think to be afraid until it's too late.

* * *

"_Hate you. Hate you _so _much_," Harry mumbles into his Wrackspurt from the depths of the archives room. His only answer is a deranged-sounding chuckle and then, a few minutes later, a typically smug response.

"_Of course you do, dear_." The rest of the transmission catches low, distracted muttering that Harry has learned is customary for Draco when he's working in the Lab. It makes him smile.

Not for long, though. The smile drops when he remembers his predicament—knee-deep in dusty old parchment, scouring the archives for former patients who had issues with slow magical development.

He'd already tried _accio_—apparently, the archives system is still too disorganized to be able to spit out more than a few scrolls at a time, and even then they are ridiculously unspecific, finding records that simply have the keywords 'magical' and 'development' without any relationship between them. He has a small pile that Widget the Wrackspurt had helped him dig out, but the poor thing is too frightened by the dust bunnies to do too much digging. Therefore, most of this is sorting by hand, just as he'd done in the beginning of his short career as a volunteer, and he likes it just as much as he ever did, which is not at all.

"_Here's something_," he exclaims, feeling a bit like Sisyphus at the top of his hill for a second. "_Ivan the Incompetent took a bath in, um, boiling hot merman essence, whatever the hell _that_ is—_"

"_I'm sure you can guess, Harry_," Draco replies, the smirk in his voice clearly audible. Harry rolls his eyes and continues.

"_Treated here for burns and chronic sea sickness, but saw an unprecedented spike in his magic levels. What I'm trying to figure out is how one would even go about _getting _merman essence_—"

"_I'm sure you can guess_," he repeats, and then sniggers loudly into Harry's ear. Harry scowls.

"_12-year-old. Seriously, Draco, could this be a lead?_"

Draco sighs, and Harry realizes he's about to roll Sisyphus' rock back down the hill. "_No, I don't think so. Merman essence is a rare ingredient, but one that is easy to identify in the blood. It would have shown up on one of my tests. Besides, I'd heard about that—the magic spikes came from the fact that he was on a lot of Muggle opium, which in those days was more common in the magical community. Before you ask, yes, I checked the children for Muggle opium, and no, our perpetrator wasn't so cruel as to drug them with illicit Muggle substances._"

"_Great_," Harry sighs, and Draco goes back to his quiet mutterings.

Even when progress _is _made, Harry doesn't understand it—all he knows is that at some point, Harry disgustedly reads out a report about someone overdosing on Puffskein urine, and Draco starts sputtering excited nonsense in his ear and then refuses to explain it. He then cuts off the transmission and ignores Harry's buzzing him, leaving Harry annoyed and petulant and sulking in the archives room. However, he doesn't stay that way for long, because a few minutes later Draco appears in the doorway, breathless and grinning, looking so entirely beautiful in his excitement Harry is actually taken aback.

"Right, so. For our first date you need to take me into the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry eyes him carefully, wondering if something hallucinatory had blown up in the Lab. "Er, I was thinking more like dinner and drinks, you know."

"Nope. Chamber of Secrets. After the shift." He beams at Harry, positively radiant, and Harry struggles with his worry and urge to grab him into his arms for a second, before he realizes that he totally has the _right _to grab him now, it's practically expected. So he fires off a quick Scouring charm on himself and pulls Draco to him, feeling the quick, pleasant kiss the blond awards him with deep down in his bones.

"I'm not getting this. Explain, please." _Right after more kissing_, he adds mentally, and unnecessarily, as Draco complies immediately with both requests.

"Puffskein urine!"

"You know just what to say to get me hot, don't you?"

"No, Harry—a very, very long time ago, Puffskein urine _was _a reported magical restorative. It stopped working, though, around the 19th century or so, and it took a while for people to figure out why. And then they realized that the Puffskein's diet had changed—Puffskeins used to eat the dead skins of basilisks—there's a fantastic article by one of the Scamanders on the psychology of Puffskeins that details why, I have a copy of it at the townhouse but—"

"Draco," Harry interrupts, amused and lost. "Focus. You think someone's using basilisk skin and Puffskein urine to do this to the kids?"

"Yes. Maybe. At least in part—I don't think that's all there is to it, and there has to be some kind of agent masking the path of the potion—and it _must _be a potion, Harry, which means that Spell Damage won't know what they're doing, should I tell them or just try to—no, I should—we—Harry! We have to go to the Chamber of Secrets! I need pieces of basilisk skin, I've got to test this—"

"You need to calm down, sweetheart, you're about to hyperventilate," Harry tells him gently, relishing Draco's flushed and happy face. It's like Hermione after a particularly enlightening trip to the library; it's an incredible change from the demeanor he had returned from that board meeting with. His heaving chest is pressed against Harry's and Harry takes a minute to just adore what an unabashed nerd he is, every inch of him. "How would they get into the Chamber of Secrets? You need to be a Parselmouth."

Draco rolls his eyes and waves a hand negligently. "Well, yeah, but after the dozens of times Weasley's told that story about faking it and hissing his way down there, it's basically common knowledge. I know a lot of Slytherins get it open sometimes and throw, um, parties down there, but that's not really the point, is it?" Harry grins as the blond gets flustered.

"Here, I have an idea. Instead of me dragging you down there after shift, let me go on my own now and bring back some skin for you. And then tonight, we'll go on a proper date, for dinner and drinks. How does that sound?"

Draco at once looks conflicted—disappointed, relieved, impatient and still ecstatic about his discovery. He calms down as the emotions unfurl across his face and then finally nods slowly. "Yes, that would be fine. The components will need at least 36 hours to properly amalgamate—I'll have to duplicate the Puffskein digestive process, I'll check upstairs in Potions and Plants for stomach acid—"

"Wonderful," Harry grins, pressing a firm kiss to Draco's rapidly moving mouth once again and curtailing another nerd rant. He pulls Draco even closer to him and wraps him in a hug. "You're brilliant," he whispers, and Draco's happy sigh makes his heart skip a beat.

"Of course I am. Now go, Potter, you've got some skin to collect!" With a pointed shove, Draco shoos Harry towards the door of the archives, positively buzzing with an excitement that Harry revels in creating. He steals one last kiss before heading for the Floo in Draco's office, flying high from his own sense of accomplishment.

And later, when the basilisk skin is retrieved and is doing its thing in Draco's lab with the Puffskein urine, Draco lets Harry take him out on a date, and Harry thinks it might be one of the best rewards he's ever gotten, without even counting the sex.

* * *

It's amazing how easily his relationship with Draco slips into their hospital routine. The raging gossip surrounding it continues into the next week, this time with the added evidence of Harry and Draco unable to keep their hands off each other to fuel it, but they don't really mind it. When not gossiping about Harry and Draco, the ward is moping about the loss of all the Hogwarts kids to Spell Damage, and Draco can't really stand that at all.

His breakthrough in the Lab is kept quiet, since he's not really supposed to be still looking into it. However, that doesn't keep his excitement down at all, something that Harry appreciates. Their dates, which generally consist of getting dinner after shifts, hexing Prophet reporters, and having messy sex in just about every room in the townhouse, are filled with more of that adorable nerd chatter that Harry both tunes out and cherishes.

"You realize that you'll have to learn all this stuff when you start at the Apollo School, right?" Draco admonishes him one morning, lounging naked in his kitchen as Harry continues making the breakfast Nilly had fallen asleep halfway through cooking.

Harry winks at him. "Nah, you'll help me cheat on all the tests, won't you?"

Draco scowls, a wonderful expression when not filled with true hate and annoyance. "Like hell I will." He then launches into a rant about academic integrity that would have Hermione cooing in contentment. Harry fills a fork with scrambled eggs, blows on it so it isn't too hot, and feeds it to Draco when his mouth opens on a vowel, kissing his cheek as he reluctantly chews. Draco's scowl deepens, but he swallows obediently and then smirks. "Keep going."

Completely unbothered, Harry feeds Draco the rest of his breakfast, not surprised when Draco winds up feeding it back to him in a heated snog. It winds up being yet another very satisfying breakfast in the townhouse kitchen, and the entirety of Bugs can tell when Harry and Draco walk in grinning like fools.

The only person on the floor who seems unmoved by all the gossip and charm of their relationship is Ginny, but for reasons Harry didn't expect. She's still huffy and cold with Draco, taking his cheerfulness and exuberance as relief at being unburdened by the Hogwarts kids. Harry can understand how it must look to her, but he doesn't think it excuses some of the things Ginny says to him.

"Well, I know you don't care anymore, but I just thought you should know about Paul Toledo," she sneers one morning. Draco and Harry had been chatting amiably, on the way to lunch, but Draco's whole face drops at the distaste and accusation in her voice. "They've stripped him of his magic completely—it was the only way to keep him from coding like Iris did."

Draco goes white as a sheet, and for a second Ginny looks guilty as she watches the devastation wash over his face. Harry glares hard at her and grips Draco's arm.

"The—the others—?"

"Not yet. It's only a matter of time, though, before they're at the point Iris and Paul were." Her lips thin again. "But hey, it's not your problem anymore, right?"

"Ginny!" Harry barks, incensed, but Draco's eyes harden and he takes a deep, fortifying breath before looking at her coldly.

"You're right. Not my problem. Let's go to lunch, Harry."

Harry's not surprised, however, when later Draco cancels their dinner to stay late in the Lab. "I have at least five components of the potion," he tells him apologetically. "And I'm running out the clock. I just—I _need _to find that masking agent—"

"It's okay," Harry says gently, kissing Draco lightly on the forehead. "I understand. Is there any way I can help?"

"No, you've done more than enough." He smiles grimly at Harry. "You can go to the townhouse, ask Nilly to make you something. Don't make any sudden movements and maybe she'll actually finish it for you. Make yourself comfortable—I can't think of a better end to my night than finding you in my bed."

Harry's heart swells with the amount of appreciation and affection in Draco's voice. It's amazing how right this feels, how easy it is to be wrapped in Draco's arms and be allowed to stay there. It feels like after all that resistance, those weeks of dancing around each other, and all the history between them, it shouldn't be this easy. Part of him feels like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it's not a great feeling.

That night, he's up late with it, comfortable as he is under Draco-scented covers. It's well past midnight when he hears the Floo flare downstairs and Draco's tired puttering about. When the light from the hallway seeps in through the opening bedroom door, Harry sits up and gives Draco a small smile, which is returned.

"Hey. You didn't have to wait up."

Harry shrugs and just watches Draco undress, body tingling in anticipation of having the pale, thin form next to it. He tries to remember if it had been this way last time, in NEWT year—if he had ached for Draco the way he does now. He's not sure, certain it wasn't as deep as this, and he wonders briefly what things would have been like if it had been. If they'd never ended their relationship, if Harry hadn't gone off on a quest for normal and then run away when he failed.

"Do you have any regrets?" he asks Draco quietly, and the blond stops folding his work robes and glances over at him. In the pale moonlight coming from the window, Harry can barely see his tired face suddenly turn anxious, and he bites his lip and hope he's not falling into his usual habit of self-sabotaging his relationships.

"Do you?" Draco rumbles, after a beat. Harry sighs but resolves to answer the question honestly.

"I want to," he says slowly, and Draco sits gently on the bed. "I—I think I regret leaving you for Ginny. I don't regret Canada, though, I just regret—regret missing ten years. I could've—" _Lost you_, he thinks, but doesn't add, because he knows what Draco lost, and knows how hard it was.

"I don't blame you for that," Draco answers thoughtfully, and the moonlight illuminates the truth in his eyes. "Believe me, I know all about chasing normal. You learned that lesson a lot sooner than I did. And I—no, I don't really have many regrets. I don't regret missing those ten years, because who knows what would've happened? If you hadn't left me, I'd probably have left you."

Harry swallows hard and looks down, a picture of the perfect blond family flashing through his head. Draco sighs and then scoots forward until he's sitting next to Harry against the headboard, taking his hand.

"It would've been a mistake, though," he whispers, and Harry forces himself to look at him. Draco blushes immediately but resolutely holds his gaze. He shifts awkwardly for a minute and then rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Harry, I'd—I wouldn't have started this with you again if I wasn't sure it was worth it. I'm a Slytherin, I never do anything that's not worth it."

He looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. "And I can't believe you're making me say this but, look. I had a pretty awful night at the Lab tonight—I struck out, again, and I'm so unbelievably frustrated it isn't even funny. But—fuck, a week ago I would've destroyed something. I'd have made someone cry. But tonight? All I could think of was you here waiting for me. And that made it all—okay. Better. You're—you make things better. You've been doing it since you got here. I've just been too bloody obtuse to let myself see it."

Harry starts smiling, leaning sideways into Draco and feeling his soft, cool skin against his. He opens his mouth to say something silly and soppy and Draco must sense it, because he ducks his head and captures the words in a slow, deep kiss.

"There," he whispers into Harry's mouth. "Now that we've Gryffindored all over each other…" And Harry laughs lightly into the kiss, feeling that familiar rush of warmth inside of him that he's no longer afraid to call love.

"Like I said," Harry answers, pressing a kiss to Draco's bare shoulder. "Your plans are shit. You need me to mix things up for you."

"Sure, Harry, go ahead and insult me while I'm half-naked in bed with you," Draco complains, making Harry laugh again. "I suppose that's how Gryffindors think seduction works, hm?"

"I'm sure Slytherins do it better," Harry remarks, and before Draco can get too smug he grabs him about the ribcage and hauls him down onto his back on the bed, hovering over him and grinning predatorily.

"Yes. You should get that on a t-shirt—oh. Okay…" Harry kisses quickly at one rosy pink nipple, effectively shutting Draco up for the moment.

Carefully, he rubs the bottom of his torso over Draco's tented boxers, enjoying the gasp the blond elicits, and continues sucking at the perked nub beneath his mouth. Draco groans and writhes beneath him, and it may be the best feeling in the world, worth just about anything, worth ten missed years and all that failure in chasing normal.

"Mm," Draco assesses mindlessly, and then more clearly, "Ah, let me up, I wanna—I want you in my mouth." And Harry shudders and moans deeply and fully into Draco's moistened skin, feeling it vibrating back at him through Draco's heaving chest.

They switch positions jerkily, refusing to stop touching each other, and Harry very nearly goes out of his mind with lust as he feels Draco's hot breath over his tightened underwear. He grabs fistfuls of bedcovers as Draco drags the fabric down before tonguing gently at the hard flesh he uncovers, and gurgles incoherently when Draco hums a bit and then bobs his blond head down to swallow his cock whole.

There's something about him—something that sets Draco blowjobs apart from all the myriad of blowjobs he's received in his life. Maybe it's that sharp mouth filled so dirtily, shut up in the most effective way—the way Draco flushes but revels in the position down below. In NEWT year, Harry had loved Draco on his knees, had found a sick kind of satisfaction in putting him down there. But now he just feels revered and adored, not superior but worshipped in a way that's wonderfully, beautifully mutual. It's a feeling great enough to come from, and as Draco hums again and flexes his throat around the aching head of his penis, he very nearly does.

He grunts in warning and Draco rears back, smirking at the distressed whimper Harry gives out in response. "Not yet," he breathes against Harry's hip, pressing a sucking kiss to the cock he's released from his mouth. "Want you to fuck me."

Harry lets out another whimper and then yanks Draco up by his arm, kissing him hungrily and eating up his breathless chuckles. He flips them again, this time settling Draco down on his stomach, and kisses his way quickly down to his bum. "Yes. Fuck. Need you…"

"You've got me," Draco moans, as Harry spreads his cheeks and nuzzles against the pink hole he sees. "Oh, God, Harry, you've _got _me, now use me—"

He Summons lube wandlessly and watches Draco shudder in anticipation as it flies over him. He's shamelessly rocking his hips into the covers beneath him, whimpering pleas to hurry, hurry and Harry growls lowly and fits a hand under his left hip, squeezing tightly.

"Up, hands and knees," he grits out, putting just the hint of an authoritative edge to his voice that he knows Draco likes when he bottoms. He suppresses a shudder of his own when Draco immediately complies, pushing himself up on shaking limbs, and he kisses the small of his back in appreciation as he thumbs open the lubricant.

He slicks two fingers and prods carefully at Draco's entrance, ignoring his orders to just _do it _and taking his time. He loves Draco needy and pleading, loves topping him and being in control for even this short time, when it feels like Draco's in control the rest of the time. He strokes tenderly inside his lover, stretching and opening him up for him, adding a third slicked finger when Draco moans for more. He kisses at the sweaty, pale expanse of back before him and presses his fingers just so, jerking in arousal when Draco lets out a high-pitched, broken cry of pleasure.

"Please, God, it's enough, enough, please Harry, you can do it, _do it _Harry, please…"

"Shh," Harry whispers, pressing against that spot again. Draco sobs into the pillow underneath his face, rocking back onto probing fingers, and Harry hears the cracks in his voice and kisses him one last time before withdrawing his fingers. "Here, now. I've got you."

He slicks his neglected cock, groaning at the feeling of just his own hand and in anticipation of the feeling of Draco hot and tight around him, and then lines himself up, Draco's grateful gasps washing through him. As he carefully sinks into Draco's willing heat, his eyes roll back in his head and he's filled with an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude that this just _fits_—this has always fit, it has always been right, even when everything else was wrong. He fucks in and out of Draco, knowing how he likes it and giving it to him like that because they don't have to worry about the wrong things anymore—everything's down to this and breakfasts in the townhouse and narcoleptic house-elves and Puffskein urine and using first names and finally believing in what's always been right there in front of you.

Ten years ago, Harry could never have imagined his life winding down to this, and he knows Draco couldn't have, either, he'd explicitly said so. But now, now as Draco shudders and cries out beneath him, coming and driving Harry over the edge with him, now, Harry can't imagine it winding down to anything else.

* * *

It takes a few more days for Ginny to come around to Draco—a few days of secretive striking out in the Lab, more research in the archives room, and more dates and breakfasts.

Draco seems to think that Harry wining and dining him is something like a novelty, something fun and exciting and slightly ridiculous, and Harry knows that the feeling comes from a past that isn't that great, but doesn't really mind. He likes indulging Draco, and still feels slightly giddy at how psyched Draco is to be his boyfriend, even if he never uses that word.

The echoes of their shared time together—particularly when Draco helped him move into the Zabini-owned building with the balcony, and when they christened said balcony (and sitting room, and kitchen, and all three bedrooms, and…)—are almost enough to allow Harry to ignore the tension between Draco and Ginny. Almost, but not quite, and he resolves to do some Hermione-style meddling about it. But it turns out he doesn't have to, and he's essentially grateful for it, because he's really pants at meddling.

Ginny blindsides Draco with a totally random hug one morning, startling them both into stunned silence, since the most physical contact Ginny has had with Draco since last week has just been some errant elbows in the gut. Ginny sniffles into his robes and Draco shares a horrified look with Harry, clearly unable to handle a crying woman in his arms, and pats her so awkwardly it's sort of hilarious.

"Erm. Hi, Ginny."

"Oh, Draco. I hate it when you do this," she sighs, sniffling and looking up at him with earnest, shining brown eyes. Draco peers at her, as if looking for some kind of Hufflepuff flip-switch. Harry smiles in amusement.

"What's he done now, Gin?"

"I hate it when he's wonderful when I'm mad at him," Ginny explains without sparing a glance at Harry. She simply stares up at Draco intensely until realization sparks into his eyes and he glances away awkwardly.

"Oh, bugger. I didn't think he'd tell you…"

"Of _course _he told me," Ginny scoffs, and Harry glances questioningly between them.

"Who told you what?"

There's a rather awkward pause, just long enough for Harry to see his blemish-free streak of awesome days go down the drain, and he shifts uncertainly on his feet as Draco and Ginny exchange a look.

"Okay," Draco says finally. "We're not going to make a big deal out of this."

"A big deal out of what?" Harry demands, already making it into a big deal in his head.

Suddenly, Ginny goes back to beaming. "He got Zacharias a job," she says a bit dreamily, and she's staring up at Draco with that same mix of hero worship and affection Zacharias always had. Harry's stomach turns in remembrance of it and he stares at Draco with wide eyes.

The blond immediately throws his hands up in frustration. "Ugh, Ginny, no. I did _not _get him a job. I simply suggested to Madame Pomfrey that, should she be in need of any help during dragon pox season—and you _know _that's coming up, and it's brutal, come on—I knew of a barely adequate Mediwizard looking for a job. I just left out the part where he was looking for a job because I fired him. That's all."

"Sure, sure…I know you, Draco Malfoy, this is just another one of those times when you won't admit you're a good person," Ginny sing-songs, still beaming, obviously trying to keep the mood light even as Harry's mood quickly disintegrates. Draco turns a classic Malfoy scowl on her, one that had been rather absent from the workplace lately.

"I am _not _a good person, Weasley. This is just a—it's a preemptive strike. Because you know that Smith is utterly incapable of finding work on his own, he's the laziest git in England. And you know that would lead to him becoming destitute, and then evicted, and then camped out on _my _couch—"

"Like _hell_," Harry snarls, rounding on Draco in a burst of jealousy. Rationally, he realizes that this is the kind of reaction Draco was trying to curtail by _not _telling him about helping Zacharias. But the monster in Harry's chest doesn't exactly pride itself on rationality—it wouldn't be much of a monster then, would it?

Unsurprisingly, Draco immediately gets defensive. "Oh sod off, if I wanted Zacharias crashing on my couch he would be, since it's _my _couch and my decision—"

"Right, ignoring the fact that he's totally fucking crazy for you—"

"Well, yes, I would ignore it, because he's my _friend_, Harry, I know you're familiar with the concept." He eyes the crowd they're attracting and then groans. "Okay, I'm not gonna fight with you over this. Zach isn't moving onto my couch, Pomfrey has seen to that, and so there's really no issue here—"

"Yes, there is too an issue," Harry insists raggedly. "If there weren't an issue, you would've told me about this when you did it."

"You're making it into an issue, then."

"Oh, for the love of God, this can go on forever, can't it?" Ginny cuts in, glaring darkly at them both when they try and argue more. "Draco, you should've told Harry. Harry, this is a good thing, this will go a long way to fixing things with Zacharias—"

"Oh yes, that's just what we all want," Harry blurts out before he can stop himself. He regrets it immediately, as the darkness that clouds over Draco's face, and to a lesser extent Ginny's, is enough to give him chills. He tries valiantly to take back his ridiculous statement but knows from the first stutter it's going to be pointless. "I mean—look, chances are he's not going to get over this, and he's just going to make things harder for you—"

"Potter," Draco says coldly, and Harry cringes at the last name. "Zacharias Smith, for all his shortcomings and faults, is my friend. If you can't deal with that, then there's an even bigger issue here than we thought."

"I—it's not that I can't deal with that, Draco, but you have to admit that he complicates things, and I won't have him upsetting you again."

"Stop pretending this is about anything other than your ridiculous pride." Draco looks hurt and annoyed and so fucking stubborn Harry just knows this is going to be one of those days where he freezes him out for the remainder. After a wonderful streak of days full of warm, affectionate Draco, the thought of angry, icy Draco just about kills him.

"Draco, just wait a second—"

"Don't." He looks down, mouth pressed into a firm, thin line, and Harry thinks of his lips pink and swollen and stretched around him and wishes he could rewind the last few minutes. "Look, just—I'll talk to you later. Stay in Abraxas for the day, I'll be in my office." He hears the unspoken words—_I can't deal with you right now_—and resolves to ask Hermione to spell his lips shut some time.

Draco ignores the rest of Harry's stuttering protests and leaves, and Harry's shoulders slump dejectedly. He looks at Ginny, sort of hopelessly searching for some sign that he _didn't _fuck that up completely, but he's not surprised to find her glaring at him, half in amusement, half in real anger.

"Smooth, Potter. Very smooth."

"I didn't—you know I didn't mean it like—"

"Oh yes, you did. And as much as I get it—honestly, if I were you, I wouldn't want Zach around either, not if he's going to slobber all over Draco some more—I know you're still going to have to do some serious groveling. Just because you're his boyfriend doesn't mean you can tell him who can and can't be his friend."

Harry sighs morosely, hoping that if he looks pathetic enough she'll hug him. He's been sorely lacking in Ginny hugs lately, even though Draco hugs more than make up for the loss. "I know that. God, of course I know that. It's just—"

"It's hard, isn't it, remembering you're not the only two people in the world," Ginny finishes for him, softening a bit. Harry nods morosely, feeling slightly ridiculous, and Ginny sighs and shakes her head, casting a _muffliato _around them and glaring as the gathered crowd disperses. "Oh, believe me, I know all about that. You have no idea how many times I used to wish that you and I were the only two people in the world."

Harry cringes, wishing she hadn't felt the need to bring that up again—as if he needs to be reminded of his total failure at heterosexuality. He's answered the 'why did you leave England/the Aurors/your friends/your life?' question in so many different ways, but one of the main answers is that—he'd been unable to live with the proof of his own failure, his inability to be the person that Ginny had always wanted him to be, the person he was always supposed to be.

But Ginny continues, sounding thoughtful and firm. "But Harry, we _aren't_ the only two people in the world. And thank Merlin for that, right?" She has a small, soft smile on her face, obviously thinking about someone in particular, a smile he recognizes and feels a twinge of regret for, and he realizes that she's right.

He'd take his failure with Ginny a hundred times over, if at the end of all of it he got to be with Draco.

"We're not the only two people in the world," Ginny tells him softly, looking at him and giving him a smile full of the same warmth and love she had always given him when they were dating, but still different. This smile has echoes of something younger, gentler—something finished. And he wonders, then, if he can really call his relationship with Ginny a failure. Doesn't think he can, not while they're standing here, talking and smiling and working together and loving each other, even if it's not the way they always thought they would. Different, yes—and who's to say this isn't exactly how they were always meant to be?

"We're not," Harry echoes, returning her smile. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Because—because I—"

"Because you love him," Ginny says knowingly, as if she understands the feeling perfectly. "And he loves you."

Balconies and breakfasts and the archives and pumpkin juice poisoning and cupboards and alcoves and blushes and Fiendfyre, and what does Zacharias Smith really matter in the face of all of that?


	11. Part Eleven

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, violence

**Word Count:** ~8400

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **So this is it, guys! It's been a rather wonderful ride that I hope you've all enjoyed. This was the first story I posted on this site in several years, and I did it sort of experimentally. Your reviews and support were really encouraging, and I'll definitely consider posting here again.

Thanks so much to everyone who left reviews; after this, there's only an itty-bitty epilogue that I'll probably post within the next day or so. Enjoy, and as always, please let me know what you think!

**Part Eleven**

A few hours later, Draco is, predictably enough, not where he'd said he would be, though Harry isn't overly concerned at first. He takes his time scoping out the rest of the floor, knowing that Draco probably needs the time to cool off, and doesn't even mind heading up to the fourth floor to ask Luna if she'd seen him.

Luna directs Harry gently to the Lab, telling him that Draco had, indeed, sought her out a while ago, but hadn't done much more than rant a little and then proclaim that he didn't have time for this. Instead of being hurt, Harry smiles affectionately at the picture of Draco ranting and ending with his signature work phrase.

He begins to worry a bit, though, when he follows Luna's vague directions to the underground Medi-Magical Laboratory and doesn't see Draco around at all. A few jittery-looking pathologists hovering over cauldrons and wearing white robes and goggles all seem to scatter when he appears, and Harry can understand Draco's impatience with them immediately. It's like working with a floor full of less competent Sparrows.

"Erm, right," he says loudly, when nobody seems brave enough to actually greet him. "Has anyone seen Healer Malfoy?"

Dead silence follows, only broken by the bubbling and hissing of potions, and Harry sighs and rubs the back of his neck. The Lab is dimly lit and sort of slimy-looking; the pathologists look a bit like rats, blinking up at the new and unfamiliar face infringing on their territory.

"He—he usually works over—over there," stutters one man, holding a tray with a few potion vials on it, which clack together in his shaking grip. He gestures timidly towards a corner of the Lab that has been closed off by a partition screen. The area seems lit up and brighter than the rest of the Lab, and Harry chastises himself for not picking it out right away.

Indeed, as he nears it and peers inside, the area is clearly Draco's: a large _keep out _sign has an animated snake pictured on it, which hisses threateningly at Harry as he smiles at it. Spelled to the walls of the partition are various charts, diagrams and lists that Harry doesn't quite understand but recognizes Draco's handwriting on. An enormous cauldron dominates most of the counter space, and the only solid wall is lined with shelves that hold a few potions ingredients and what appear to be blood samples and thin, gold and silver thread-like magic samples, stasis spells swirling around them.

The space is undeniably Draco's, but it has a distinct lack of Draco, and he frowns in confusion as he looks around at the rather cluttered mess left in front of the bubbling cauldron. It's obvious that Draco had been here, and not long ago, but he appears to have left suddenly.

"He—he ran out about twenty minutes ago." Harry jumps and nearly upends the cauldron as he whirls to see the frightened-looking pathologist from before peering in at him and squinting in the brightness.

"Right. Did he say where he was going?"

The pathologist blushes and shakes his head. "N—no. He was just mumbling to himself, but he always does that—"

"Thanks," Harry says shortly, rolling his eyes at the pathologist's flinch. He turns back to Draco's work area, looking closely at the pieces of parchment scattered there.

A still-inked quill is laying haphazardly over one sheet, and Harry zeroes in on what appears to be a list. Scribbled on it in Draco's neat, cramped handwriting is: _armadillo bile_, _puffer-fish eyes, Puffskein urine, Puffskein stomach acid, basilisk skin_. Scribbled next to the list are various measurements with lots of cross-outs and question marks, nearly illegible, and even more notes on the properties of each ingredient. And then, at the very bottom of the page, there is another list entitled _masking agents_. At least a dozen possibilities have been crossed out, and the last possibility is underlined multiple times: _Mimbulus mimbletonia, Stinksap (?)__. _

And underneath that, the bit that makes Harry's heart stop: _known UK breeders: N. Longbottom_.

He's done it, Harry realizes numbly, staring at the parchment in dull, rising horror. He's figured out the last element, and he's—but where had Draco gone?

_To talk to Neville_, a terrible, fearful voice in his head supplies, and very quickly, Harry begins moving.

_Neville won't do anything to him_, he rationalizes, even as awful images of the two of them dueling each other unfurl inside his mind. _Neville is his friend. Neville is _my _friend. He won't. He wouldn't. _

Unable to banish the thoughts of it, Harry pulls his wand slowly and turns to the quaking pathologist. "Is there a Floo down here?"

The man points a shaking finger, and Harry sweeps towards the fireplace, not even sure of where, exactly, he's going to go. He pinches a handful of powder in one hand and, thinking fast, cries out, "Hogwarts, Headmistress' office!"

The Floo flares green, and he steps in, bracing himself for the dizzying transport—and is promptly bounced back out. Right. Of course McGonagall wards her Floo.

All the pathologists are staring at him now, as if he's absolutely nuts, and Harry feels a little nuts as he gets back on his feet and tries to process a logical, reasonable thought in his panicked brain. He grabs more powder and tries the next office he can think of. "Hogwarts, Madame Pomfrey's office!"

There's a tense moment where he's sure it hasn't worked—he braces himself for the feeling of being bounced out again, the awful panic in him rising up, up until he can't think of anything else besides _oh God—Draco—Neville—potion—_and it feels like he might be sick.

But then the green flames keep him, whirl him around until he's spat out again, this time into the familiar space of Madam Pomfrey's office.

Harry takes a split second to be grateful to whatever power had kept the old nurse from warding her Floo as McGonagall had done, and then he springs into action, storming out of the empty room without stopping to think about where he's going.

He's moving so fast, and thinking so little, that he barely notices when he barrels into someone with the completely wrong shade of blond hair. The only reason he stops is because that wrong blond person grabs him and shakes him a little, spitting in outrage.

"Oh fuck _no_, Potter, if you are working here too I will honestly kill myself, for fuck's sake—"

"I don't have time for this, Smith!" Harry yelps, and then he says the magic words. "I think Draco's in trouble!"

Zacharias stops shaking him and takes a second to look at him speculatively—brown eyes raking over a flushed face, panting chest, and what must be truly wild hair by now. Harry knows himself, knows what he must look like, and is so far from caring right now it's not even funny.

"Okay, just calm down, take a breath, and explain. What's going on?"

And as much as he'd like to rearrange Zacharias' face—again—he can also see the sense in doing at least two of the three things he's been instructed to. Harry stops for a second and considers himself. Drums up about 12 years of Auror experience and tries to find some rationality somewhere in that panicked, muddled head of his.

"I think Draco figured out the potion for the wild magic kids, and he figured out who was making it, or at least, who was helping make it, and I think he's come here to confront him, and I need to find him before Nev—I mean, in case they fight or—"

"Wait a second," Zacharias says, holding up a hand and smirking and basically waving a sign up in front of Harry's face that says _punch me, please! _He looks amused and not at all concerned and Harry wonders if this is how Hufflepuffs fall in love with people, by being obnoxious prats about them. "So what you're saying is that Draco—who, let's remind ourselves, is an extremely analytical, neurotic, overly cautious _scientist _with a wonderful knack for self-preservation and who plans out just about every aspect of his life—yes, that Draco, has stormed Hogwarts castle without telling anyone to confront a Gryffindor war hero about a suspected evil deed. That's what you're telling me."

Through the panic, the blind fear, a small part of Harry is screaming _sense! The Hufflepuff bastard is making sense! _Harry wants to punch that part, too, a little bit. "Okay, yeah, but then where is he? I looked all over for him at Mungo's—the Lab people said he ran out all excited a little while ago—where would he go if not here?"

Zacharias shrugs, still unconcerned. "I dunno, did you check the loos? Maybe he really had to pee. Look, it's obvious you're panicking over what could be nothing, and as funny as it is to watch you run around like a chicken with its head cut off, I don't think Draco will appreciate me fucking around with his boyfriend that much, and I'm trying to get back on his good side." He shudders, looking a bit green for a moment, and then smiles grimly at Harry. "Honestly, just because he's had a bit of Gryffindor in him lately—"

"Fuck, don't talk about him like that—"

"—does not make him a total Gryffindor moron." He eyes Harry like he would a particularly slow child. "Which I can't say extends to you, Potter, honestly, storming in here like some sort of valiant knight, do you ever fucking leave your white horse at home?" Harry glares but feels his shoulders slump, realizing rather painfully that Zacharias is absolutely right—he hadn't thought this through at all, hadn't really considered who he was dealing with. All he had thought about was that Draco could be in trouble, and he hadn't been able to process anything else. For a second, he's almost grateful to Zacharias, and that's even more painful than mentally admitting that he's right.

Zacharias must sense that, because even though the smirk doesn't quite leave his face, he seems to sigh and force some sort of good will out of himself. "Fine, okay, look. I'll check around Hogwarts for you, and you should go back to Mungo's and—did you even buzz Draco with your Wrackspurt?" Harry flushes in answering shame, and the smirk becomes an amused grin and he can see him swallowing back a derogatory comment. "Right, so, just go back and try—"

"No," Harry says immediately, finally transforming Zacharias' face into a glare. "I'll check here, you go back to Mungo's, tell Ginny what's going on, and look for Draco there. I'll give you my Wrackspurt."

Zacharias scowls at him, planting his hands on his hips in a way that makes Harry wonder if it's a requirement for the employees of the Hogwarts infirmary. "How does that make any sense at all? I work here, you work there—"

"I want to talk to Neville about all this," Harry tells him impatiently. "He's my friend, and I've known him for a long time, and I just—I want an explanation. That's all." He cups his Wrackspurt into his hand and coaxes it to float by Zacharias' ear, grinning when the little creature nips the blond sharply and then hums innocently. Zacharias continues scowling but finally rolls his eyes and starts shuffling back towards Pomfrey's Floo.

"Ugh. Fine, go ahead. There are about thirty different things wrong with this but I'm sure none of them apply to you, O Savior—"

"Thanks, Smith," Harry calls distractedly, already hustling towards the exit to the infirmary.

He's on his way to the greenhouses, trying to plan some sort of speech besides _seriously, what the fuck, Neville? _when another thought occurs to him. Wherever this potion is being brewed, it's probably not the greenhouses. It's probably not the dungeons, either, or anywhere else where the perpetrators can be stumbled upon. It's probably hidden, kept away from the Hogwarts public. And Neville knows exactly where he can hide an illegal potions operation.

Setting his shoulders in determination, Harry turns and starts for the Room of Requirement.

* * *

In all of NEWT year, in every one of their secret meetings, neither Harry nor Draco had ever once brought up returning to the Room of Requirement.

Harry had honestly never really wanted to go back there—he's had nightmares about losing Ron or Hermione or Draco to the fiery depths of that room, and he knows that Draco had them, too, even though neither had ever mentioned them to each other. He'd heard that it had repaired itself from Hermione, but had never had any desire to go and check it out for himself.

He swallows any trepidation he has about it and stalks purposefully back and forth in front of the wall that has swallowed up its door, concentrating on the need to create a secret potion to give magically underdeveloped kids a boost.

It's almost surprising how easily it works, but then again, the Room is really used to hide exactly what you're doing in there, not necessarily the fact that you're doing it. Draco had never taken great lengths to hide that he was using the Room during sixth year, but that hadn't helped Harry catch him at anything, because he hadn't known what he was trying to catch him at.

Now, though, he knows exactly what he's looking for, and the Room doesn't disappoint him. Harry steps through the door as soon as it appears and looks around in sad wonder at the elaborate potions laboratory set up inside.

It doesn't look much different from the St. Mungo's Lab, really, the same slimy residue coating all of the walls and the same dim, low lighting. The main difference is that the Room of Requirement is much, much larger than the basement Lab area of the hospital, and so much of the space is taken up by clutter and mess, not unlike the Room of Harry's Hogwarts years. The counter space and various tables set up in the center of the room are under a large, stone archway, and Harry wonders a bit about Neville's never before seen flare for Gothic architecture. Near the lab area are a few chairs, including one large, overstuffed armchair with a few pieces of parchment piled on it.

An enormous empty cauldron sits on the countertop, and it's surrounded by samples of magic that Harry recognizes immediately as similar to those in Draco's lab, and his stomach twists in discomfort. This is where Iris Baxter's death had been conceived, where it had been created.

He stands for a minute, just staring at the lab area under the archway, and replays Iris' last awful moments in his head. His body tenses as he realizes very quickly that he's not alone in the Room, and he braces himself with a sort of grim resignation.

"Hullo, Neville."

Harry doesn't have to look at Neville to tell he's pale and kind of shaky—that's how he's looked for weeks, ever since he first laid eyes on Susan Bones that day at King's Cross. He curses himself mentally for writing it off as romantic woes, for ignoring it the way he'd always ignored everything until it was too late.

"H—Harry. You—you shouldn't have—"

"Did Draco come here?" He keeps his voice calm, level and firm—his Auror voice. He will not panic again; he absolutely refuses to.

Neville swallows audibly, and Harry looks at him with even, reasonable eyes. "So he figured it out, then. Thought he would. I—I thought when the kids got transferred—Sue's aunt is on the board, and she sent the Aurors—"

"_Neville_," Harry growls lowly, turning from the archway to face him completely and letting him see the fire unfurling across his face. Neville swallows again, and then seems to steel himself a bit, pulling himself up to his full height and looks Harry straight in the eye.

"You have to know I never meant for any of this to happen," he says firmly, seeming to force down the faint quiver in his voice through sheer will. Harry believes him, too, believes the friend he's known for nearly twenty years, but still can't get Iris Baxter's small, scared face out of his head. "It was—they were never meant to get sick. They were too young, we know that now, but if we can try with older students—"

"Bollocks, Neville, you're not trying with anyone else!" Harry cuts in, clenching his wand in his hand. Neville fumbles for a bit before coming up steely again, squaring his shoulders.

"You don't understand. You don't _know _what it's like to not be good enough—what it's like to be ridiculed and laughed at because you're lagging behind. You were always right at the top, Harry! You could always do anything you wanted, anything you tried. I know, though, and Susan knows, and we weren't going to let another generation of kids go through that."

"God, would you listen to yourself? You're—you're a hero, Neville. You're an amazing wizard. I don't get what you have to be insecure about anymore. You're living proof that the wizard you are at 11 isn't necessarily the wizard you're always going to be. And there's tons more proof of that, all over—"

"Oh, you mean _Malfoy_?" The sneer in his voice is so uncharacteristic Harry nearly reels back. "Yes, because he's definitely not still a smirking, cowardly bully just like he was back in school. Honestly, Harry, open your eyes. The only reason anybody even gives him any credit is because he got lucky and made a discovery everyone else was too obtuse to look for. Underneath the _genius _and the plotting, he's still the same Malfoy as ever. You're just too blind to see it."

He suddenly clenches his fists at his sides, and Harry tenses, raising his wand. "Alright, it doesn't matter. It's over now anyway—Draco knows, and he's probably gone to the Ministry, if he's not on his way here, and Merlin help you if he's raised Pansy and the rest of the Slytherins—"

"I'm not going to let him win again," Neville tells him softly, deadly serious. Harry nearly shivers at the cold threat in his voice, and tries very hard to reconcile this man with the one he's known for years. "It's been a long time since I've let Draco Malfoy get the best of me, and it's not going to happen again now." His face softens then, and for the first time he sounds regretful, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, Harry."

He makes no move with his wand, though, and Harry's mind races, eyes trained sharply on Neville's every movement, so that he doesn't register the movement behind him until it's too late. He turns just in time to see the armchair by the lab finish transforming into Horace Slughorn, wand raised and Stunner already airborne towards Harry.

Harry throws up a shield but not in time, and the last thing he sees before everything tinges gray and fades out is Slughorn's frowning, disappointed face.

* * *

He wakes up tied to a chair, and he has a moment of revulsion before he registers that it is not the chair Slughorn had been.

Harry wiggles about in his bonds as he blinks into consciousness, taking in the raised, arguing voices surrounding him. His wand is gone but he's starting to gather the wherewithal to draw upon the basic wandless magic he'd accumulated over the years. He's still concentrating when a loud, angry voice cuts into his concentration, much closer than it had been just a moment ago.

"Oh, lovely. He's awake, then." Susan Bones stands before him stiffly, eyes narrowed, holding a potion vial in one hand. Harry blinks at her a bit before fixing a charming, disingenuous smile upon his face.

"Hello, Susan. Nice to see you again."

"Can it, Potter. I know what you're trying to do." For a second, her face softens as Neville's had done, and she looks regretful. Then she twists her face unpleasantly and holds up the vial.

"Susan, my dear," rumbles Slughorn from a bit of a ways away. Harry looks at him and realizes that he looks to be packing up the lab area, spelling the magic samples into crates on the floor. "Leave him alone, we must hurry." Neville, working quietly alongside him, doesn't look over and keeps his head down.

"I'll be just a minute, Horace. We can't let him go yet." Susan smiles grimly and leans in close. "So sorry, Harry, but I'm going to need you to open wide and drink this for me, thanks."

Harry glares up at her, feeling his magic gather under his skin and preparing to use it. "Over my dead body."

She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. "Thought you'd say that. Well, sorry about this, then. _Petrificus totalus_!"

Cursing violently in his head, Harry feels the Body-Bind take hold and lets a brief moment of panic overwhelm him as Susan waves her wand and forces his mouth open. He notes Neville staring over at them now, eyes clouded over with what might be guilt, and Slughorn is clucking disapprovingly, but it's hard to focus on when he feels Susan bring the vial to his lips and tip it down his throat, massaging his neck to make him swallow. Whatever it is tastes despicable, and as he feels the potion sink into his system, a strange heaviness overtakes him. The sparks of magic disappear completely, and it almost feels as though he's wearing a heavy, wet sweater.

Susan releases from the Bind and frowns as he coughs and splutters. "The fuck did you give me?" he chokes out, eyes watering from the taste and feel of it.

"You should tell your boyfriend he should develop a better tasting magical dampener," Susan informs him crisply, and Harry's heart sinks. His magic—they're fucking with his _magic_. Rage starts to boil in his stomach, and he grips the arms of the chair he's tied to tightly. Susan continues frowning at him and flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Not that you'll remember any of this to tell him anyway, though."

"Susan," Neville says sharply, and Susan sighs and turns away towards him, leaving Harry to seethe and fidget in his chair.

The three continue packing up the lab, bickering the whole way. Slughorn keeps flicking his eyes back to Harry and grimacing, and it isn't long before he pauses in his work to come over to him.

"You mustn't think poorly of us, lad. We truly were just trying to help."

Harry grits his teeth. "I'm sure you think that. Excuse me if I find it hard to believe as you drug me and tie me up and prepare to escape like criminals."

Slughorn's face goes hard, and Harry can hear both Draco _and _Hermione shrieking in his head for him to shut up. "We are not criminals, Harry. We are trying to better the Wizarding World."

"Yup, that's what _Voldemort _said."

"How dare you—"

"Stop it, Horace," Susan calls over. "He won't understand. Potter's never been able to see past that Gryffindor self-righteousness to look at the bigger picture."

"Hey!" Neville says, looking wounded. "Not all Gryffindors are self-righteous, you know."

"Oh yeah, Nev, you're really giving our House a great name," Harry spits, and Susan glares at him, raising her wand again.

"_Don't _speak to him like that. At least Neville's _trying _to do some good. All you've done for the world lately is run away and leave it to everyone else to deal with. You've got a lot of nerve, you know, judging us and preaching at us about things you don't even understand anymore."

"All I understand is that a little girl is dead, and that even more could be without magic completely now, and that's all _your _fault," Harry counters, unable to bite down on the anger. Draco and Hermione continue to scream at him, and now Draco's threatening to withhold sex, but Harry is just too angry to care.

"Oh, whatever, I don't have to listen to this." She starts forward, looking both angry and embarrassed, which Harry knows is a bad combination for him right now. "I was only planning to _obliviate _you just for the past week or so, but since you've got so much to say, maybe I'll take everything."

"Susan, no!" Neville yelps, dropping the crate he's holding. Slughorn says nothing, and the twist of fear and betrayal Harry feels then is sickening and awful.

"Maybe I'll give you another dampener, too—then you can know what it's like to not be good enough, to have to settle for a job you can't stand because you didn't pass enough NEWTs," Susan continues, ignoring Neville completely. She pulls another vial from her pocket and waves it at him. "Think Malfoy can fix a dampener overdose? Isn't that how he killed Iris?"

Harry sees red. "_You _killed Iris, you—"

"Don't, Harry," Neville cuts in, stepping between them and holding out a hand to Susan. "Give me the dampener, Susan, we're not—we're not going to hurt Harry, we're just going to erase enough so that we can get away and start over new. We have to hurry, okay, Malfoy knows and he probably went to the Ministry, we have to go."

"How can you let him talk to me like that?" Susan breathes out wetly, and Harry registers that there are tears shining in her eyes. "How can you let him say that—I didn't kill Iris! Iris was—she trusted me, I would never hurt her!" The amount of pain and regret in her voice very nearly causes Harry to pity her.

"I know, Sue," Neville says softly, and he pulls her into his arms and discreetly grabs the dampener from her. "It's okay. He didn't mean it."

Harry grits his teeth against a resounding _yes I did_. Susan still has her wand pointed at him.

Susan takes a deep breath and nods slowly. For a moment, it looks as though she's going to lower her wand. Then her eyes harden and lock with Harry's, and he knows that she's going to erase everything. He closes his eyes and summons every memory he can think of with Draco, forcing the image of his face to the forefront of his mind, desperate to cling to it.

"_Obliviate—_"

"_PROTEGO_!" another voice bellows, and Susan's spell collides with a blue shield spell and bounces harmlessly away. Everyone jerks to look towards the entrance to the Room of Requirement, where Draco, Ginny and Zacharias stand with their wands out and ready, all looking murderous. Slughorn pales at the thunderous expression on Draco's face but raises his wand stiffly, and Susan and Neville both follow suit.

"Get _away _from him," Draco snarls, tensed and dangerous-looking even in his pale blue work robes. He looks about to explode in rage, and Harry instantly starts worrying, trying to reassure himself with Zacharias' words from before: _analytical, neurotic, overly cautious scientist with a wonderful knack for self-preservation_. Then he thinks of Draco in a rage, making pathologists cry and Trainees flee in terror, and groans inwardly. Draco is none of those things when he's pissed off enough.

"How sweet," Susan mocks, a terrible smile alighting on her face. She doesn't look nearly as scared of Draco and the others as Slughorn does, and Harry knows that righteous indignation and pride is what's fueling that. "You've been giving Malfoy hero tips, Harry—Merlin knows he'd be much too cowardly without them."

"Oh shut _up_, Susan, honestly," Ginny snaps furiously. "Just give it up—you're caught, you know, the Ministry knows everything, and you'd better step away from Harry before I do something I'll regret, or worse, let _Draco _do something he won't regret _at all_."

"Come on, Sue," Zacharias puts in, looking casually interested and rather bored, though his eyes are glinting dangerously and Harry knows he'll back up absolutely anything Draco and Ginny decide. "You know I think Potter's an irritating git, too, but really, even I think this is a little crazy. This isn't the Hufflepuff way."

"Oh, really?" Slughorn answers unpleasantly, and he sounds cornered and annoyed. "This is the cavalry the Ministry sends—a bunch of medical staff? Somehow, I find that difficult to believe." He straightens up and looks over at Neville. "Come along then, professors, I don't see much of a threat here. We'll have to take Mr. Potter along with us for some insura—bloody _fuck_!" Slughorn reels back, shocked, barely dodging a Stunner thrown by Draco, who has swooped in under the archway, and with a snarl, Slughorn raises his wand and starts throwing hexes back.

The room seems to explode, then, the air crackling with magic as Ginny and Zacharias follow Draco in and advance on Susan and Neville. Neville blasts Ginny off of her feet with a well-aimed _impedimenta_, and Zacharias seems to let out a sort of roar and starts furiously hurling jinxes back, attacking both Susan and Neville with no concern for being outnumbered. Ginny obviously doesn't like this, though, and very quickly she's back on her feet and Susan is shrieking from the Bat-Bogey Hex that has hit its mark perfectly.

Under the archway, Draco and Slughorn seem about evenly matched, each throwing spells meant to capture or defend, not necessarily to harm. Harry has to admire Draco's self-restraint—he looks like he'd _like _to murder Slughorn, but is obviously holding himself back. He cringes as he realizes that Slughorn is just getting angrier and angrier, and wonders if he'll continue to have as much self-restraint as Draco does.

"Honestly, Draco," Slughorn croons, as if speaking to one of his students. Draco flings a Body-Bind through gritted teeth, and glares when Slughorn blocks it effortlessly. "I would've thought you would understand. The Slytherins—they can't afford to be falling behind, you know. There's already so much stacked against them, so much damage the last war did. I was trying to give them a _chance_."

"Slytherins," Draco snarls, dodging a Blasting Curse that makes Harry quake in his chair with rage. "Take what they're given and they _make the most of it_. The pull themselves out of the dungeons and they succeed in their own right. They do whatever it takes to become _better, stronger_. They _survive_. They do not need a chance from _you_!"

"Exactly, whatever it takes—_stupefy_!"

"_Protego_! They _survive_, Slughorn! They don't need the Slug Club or a ridiculous magical _poison_! They don't need YOU!"

Harry nearly explodes out of his chair when another Blasting Curse gets hurled towards Draco and he just barely dodges it. He feels horribly and frighteningly helpless, the magical dampener weighing on him even more than the bonds holding him in place. His heart nearly stops as a _diffindo _slices the side of Draco's shoulder and makes him fumble his wand, as an _incendio _from a recovered Susan blasts just over Ginny's head, and _he can't do anything_. 12 years of Auror experience, and he's watching the people most important to him fight for their lives in a duel he can't be a part of. _They're not trained for this_, he thinks desperately, watching Zacharias stagger back from Neville, and he wants to shut his eyes against the awful fear and hopelessness the scene is creating inside of him.

_You need to be doing something_, Draco had assessed about him once, but what happens when there's nothing he can do? What happens when the hero loses his white horse and hangs up his sword?

Susan goes down first, finally bound and still under a triumphant Ginny, and Neville seems to lose most of his control when he sees her. He meets his mark again and sends Zacharias hurtling across the room to crash into the wall under the archway where Draco and Slughorn are—just as Draco deflects a final _confringo_ Slughorn had thrown and sends it wild up into the air.

There's a terrible stillness in the room as everybody watches the Blasting Curse connect with the center of the stone archway up above, shattering it and raining enormous chunks of stone down on Slughorn, Draco and Zacharias. Slughorn shoots up a _protego _and dives out of the way, but Zacharias is down and unmoving, right underneath a quaking column poised to collapse from lack of support. Draco's eyes lock with Harry's and he reads the worst apology ever in them, before he watches the blond hurl himself over and grab Zacharias—just as the column comes down.

Something snaps inside of Harry—a part of his heart is wailing and screaming, and there's a strange rushing in his ears. He's barely aware of his bonds suddenly falling away, doesn't have enough comprehension to realize that the weight of the dampener seems to have been thrown off—all he can register is the pile of rock and rubble across the room, the small bright spot that is the top of Draco's head, and Slughorn and Neville standing, staring at it dumbfounded.

Harry stands up and croaks out, "_Expelliarmus_," without really understanding what he's doing. He doesn't understand the significance of it working, doesn't understand the continued shaking of the room around him, and doesn't understand Neville and Slughorn's pale, scared faces stuttering apologies and regrets. All he understands in that moment is that Draco is underneath that rock, and that Neville and Slughorn had brought it down on him. He raises a hand and they're both bound and shocked, trembling on the floor near Susan, and he advances on them slowly, his mind blanked out completely with rage—

"Harry, _Harry_, please, HARRY PLEASE!"

Through the haze of anger and grief pushing in at him, he finally registers Ginny's sobbing, pleading voice, tight with urgency and panic. He blinks slowly and looks at her, his heart clenching at the sight of her scrabbling at the pile of stone desperately, one hand shaking and gentle on the top of Draco's unmoving head.

"_Please, _Harry, please, I need your help, we need to—we have to get them—Harry!"

Numbly, Harry moves over to her and calls upon the magic once again humming under his skin—wild and blazing, ready to fucking burst all over Neville and Slughorn. But he takes in Ginny, trembling and shaking and just as senseless with fear and pain as he is, and takes a tight hold on the magic and pulls it down, under his control.

_Do something_, he tells himself sharply, and he calls out, "_Accio _wand," with a shaking voice and feels immensely more under control when it whizzes into his hand from Susan's pocket.

Focusing on that spot of fair hair underneath Ginny's hand—_his head, it didn't hit his head, he might be okay as long as his head wasn't hit_—he Vanishes the rock gently and carefully. Then he nearly falls down with despair as Draco's broken and crumpled body is revealed to him, on top of Zacharias' unmoving one, and Ginny lets out a long, high wail of anguish.

"Oh, _God_," Harry whimpers, dropping to his knees as Ginny takes big, heaving breaths.

"O—Okay," she says. "Okay, it's okay, it's okay, there's a—he's breathing, Harry, he's breathing, we have to—you have to _help _me, please, hold his—his head straight—"

Stifling his own sobs, Harry reaches out shaking hands and gently replaces Ginny's hand with own, nearly losing it at the feel of the soft hair underneath his fingertips. Across the room, Neville is suddenly crying, still whimpering apologies, but nothing matters except for the small movements Draco's (bloodied, broken, dusty) body makes as it takes shallow breathes.

Ginny whispers the words of the Full Body-Bind, and then, with a slight nod to Harry, she levitates Draco's rigid body up and off of Zacharias, laying him gently down on the floor not very far away. Harry goes with him and tries to assess the areas of injury he can see, but there are too many, oh God, and he feels panic start to overwhelm him again. He reaches out his wand and whispers, "Should I—" and nearly jumps away at Ginny's shriek.

"No! No, you're—you're not trained, you're not—oh God, Harry, I can't do this, I'm not—this is too much, they're—"

"Shh," Harry cuts in, wanting to reach out to her but unable to tear himself away from Draco. "You can, Ginny, of course you can, please, you can, you can help them."

Taking another deep breath, Ginny nods and begins casting spells quickly over Zacharias, sagging with relief as whatever she does starts to work immediately. "He's okay, nothing hit him that bad. Most of the wounds are superficial—they can deal with his ribs at Mungo's. But, God, Draco—" She seems to shrink again, and this time Harry does grab her and he shakes her.

"Stop it, Ginny, _you can do this_. Please, you have to help him."

"He needs a Healer or a Mediwizard, his breathing isn't—and his spine, Merlin, I could cripple him. I need _help_, I can't." And that helplessness floods Harry once again as he realizes what she's saying: she's not trained enough, either.

Despair rocks into him once again as he takes in Draco's rapidly fading color, his ragged breathing, _so much blood_, and it's like Ron all over again—yes, he'd done it, he'd done something, he had gotten his sword back and slain the bad guys. But none of that matters right now, does it? What does it matter if the bad guys are caught, if he can't do anything to save the one he loves?

"_Ennervate_," Ginny whispers next to him, sobs still rocking through her, and Harry stares in disbelief as Zacharias groans into consciousness and blinks up at her. She leans down and sobs out, "Zach, please, I'm so sorry, he _needs_ you, please, I need you, please get up, please..."

It takes a minute, Harry can see that, a minute that chills him to the bone every time Draco fails to take another breath. He looks down at the wand in his hand, swallowing hard, and when Zacharias sits up slowly and painfully, he pushes his wand at the Mediwizard.

"_Please_," he whispers, and Zacharias stares at him for another minute, and then looks down at Draco, sucking in a choked, desperate breath.

Another minute, in which Harry feels his heart stop with Draco's breathing. And then Zacharias raises his wand, face still tight with pain, now edged with determination, and says in a firm, strong voice, "_Sileo_."

* * *

The small waiting room down in Emergency seems to be even smaller, now that half of the Bugs staff is crowded into it. Intermingled with the blue and pink-clad employees are various Ministry workers: Pansy and Theo, both pale and stony-faced, and Ron, pacing in his maroon Auror robes, plus Zacharias' father, wearing a badge Harry hadn't bothered to look at. Blaise had gone with Hermione to wrangle information on Zacharias and Draco from the still incompetent Emergency staff, and Daphne is patting a tearful Greg on the shoulder comfortingly.

Glaring at the crowd of Bugs workers is Lucius Malfoy, who sits in a corner flanked by Narcissa and Luna. Every once in a while his face crumples into anguish, and then he catches Harry looking at him and schools it back into a mask of fury. Luna has managed to calm Narcissa down from her quiet but desperate tears, and now she's concentrating on Lucius, speaking to him soothingly in hushed tones. It seems to be doing nothing for him at all, and for once, Harry completely understands Lucius' feelings: Hermione had attempted to soothe Harry in much the same way, and it had done bugger all.

Now he sits alone, shrugging off everyone's attempts at comfort, wanting only one person's arms around him and unable to deal with not having them.

Across the room, Ginny keeps shrugging off Michael's comforting touches, too, and Harry wonders briefly whose touch she'd rather have.

The silence is tense and terrible, and Harry can't believe that he had felt relieved to be back at St. Mungo's after their desperate and hurried journey from Hogwarts. He had allowed himself to feel hope and safety upon following Draco's floating stretcher in through the Floo. But then they had dragged the stretcher away from them and pulled it into a trauma room. They had kicked Harry and Ginny out and taken Zacharias away, too, even though he was on his feet and still trying to cast healing spells on Draco.

Pansy, Ron and Theo had followed them from Hogwarts, having been dispatched there by the Ministry after Draco had run to them and tried to persuade them of his findings. Seamus and Clayworth had also shown up at Hogwarts, though they had been wise enough not to follow to St. Mungo's.

That had been an hour ago, and through the hour, as Pansy, Ron, and Theo had joined them after rounding up the rest of the troops, there had been no news.

Suddenly, Daphne lets out an explosive breath and wiggles a bit in her chair. Everyone stares at her, and she glares fiercely at them all.

"Oh, honestly, shut up. I'm uncomfortable. You would think these rooms would be comfortable for pregnant women, considering how many of them wind up down here."

For a second, everyone just looks appalled at her complaining, especially the elder Malfoys. But then Ron snorts. "Actually, no, not really. Usually it's the pregnant woman's family in here, waiting for the pregnant woman to give birth."

"If that's the case, this should be renamed the Weasley Family Waiting Room, considering how many of you lot have been in here over the years," Pansy sneers, glaring up at her husband. Ron just grins cheekily at her.

"Ah, yes, but don't you remember, dear? You're one of us lot now." He gestures at Theo and Daphne. "And we've all been in here for Daphne and Theo a bunch of times, too, haven't we? And for me, and for when Greg cut his thumbs off trying to make Hermione's birdhouse, and when Blaise slept with that vampire, and when Ginny tried to learn how to ice skate." Everyone looks thoughtful, then, seeming to fondly remember the past experiences in this little waiting room. Harry just wonders briefly why he seems to have landed himself with a bunch of baby-making, thrill-seeking, accident-prone klutzes for friends. Then he realizes that he'd gone a full 30 seconds without picturing Draco broken and bleeding under a pile of rock and very nearly smiles.

There's another lapse of quiet, this one warmer than before. And then Goyle says, tentatively, "Remember when Luna went into labor?"

Another hush, tenser, and Harry watches Luna carefully, watches Lucius and Narcissa stiffen in their chairs. For a second, Pansy looks incredibly angry, and she goes whiter than before. Then she seems to sag slightly, and then, to Harry's utter shock, she lets out a small, strangled chuckle. "Oh Merlin, yes. Draco went in and destroyed the Lab."

A few nervous laughs, including Luna, who is smiling softly now. Narcissa starts to share Luna's smile after a moment, and Harry is utterly shocked when she turns and addresses him. "We sent Lucius in after him," she explains quietly. Lucius grunts beside her, shaking his head, but Harry watches as the sides of his mouth seem to twitch at the memory. "Then we followed Lucius, because he'd been gone so long. We found them both in the Lab, hurling cauldrons and chairs at all the pathologists."

"Kent was there, he took pictures," Luna adds softly. "I'll show them to you, Harry. I wish I could've seen it in person, because the pictures are marvelous."

Harry stares at them: the beautiful blond family, _Draco's _family, and suddenly feels a rush of love and loss and grief so deep it feels as though his chest may cave in. He knows his face is crumpling the way Lucius' had, and wants desperately to hide it, wants Hermione to come hug him and hide it for him. He thinks of that awful rage and helplessness he had felt in that Room—he thinks he could've killed Neville and Slughorn if Ginny hadn't called him over, and wants to be more scared about that. He shudders a bit and, concentrating on that anger, stands up slowly.

_Draco went in and destroyed the Lab._

The room is silent, _again_, and nobody says anything but everyone knows what he's going to do. He rumbles out a low, "I'll be back," and he should probably be more shocked with Lucius stands up, too.

They both turn towards the door, and Harry knows that not one person in the room will stop them, not even the staff, not even the _security _staff, and in that moment he loves them all _so much_, even the ones he sort of hates.

* * *

"I destroyed the Lab," he whispers sleepily, gripping the pale, slender fingers in his hand much too tightly. "Don't worry, though, we put a shield on your area. Your dad helped—he's really not so bad. And then your mum and Luna cleaned us up. Security tried to arrest us, but Goy—Greg called them off. They're all terrified of him, did you know? Well, of course you did. You probably taught him that, didn't you?"

Harry squeezes the fingers again and eyes the monitoring spells for the umpteenth time. He's glad that Draco had been transferred up to Bugs for observation, but he hadn't been happy at all when Sparrow had been the one to set up the monitoring spells. He'd insisted that Tabitha come in and check Sparrow's spellwork, even though she'd been busy enough helping Corner develop the antidote for the Hogwarts kids upstairs.

"Zacharias is very angry with you," Harry continues quietly. Everyone had been allowed to visit Draco in the few hours that he had been awake—Sparrow had Conjured up a cot and offered it to Narcissa to spend the night with her son, once he had fallen asleep. Narcissa had graciously insisted that Harry be the one to stay, and that was when he'd finally started crying, exhausted, embarrassing tears in front of the startled but understanding woman. He's been sitting on the cot ever since, babbling ceaselessly to his sleeping lover, tired but relieved beyond belief that he's going to be okay.

"He said you've lost at least 80 percent of your appeal now, with your Gryffindor foolishness." He can't help but let a full-on grin creep onto his face. "I'm not sorry about that. I _am _sorry about being jealous of him, though. He—he saved your life, Draco. You wouldn't have made it to St. Mungo's without him. I—I owe him, now."

He swallows hard, the awful, awful memory of those minutes in the Room of Requirement, before Draco had started breathing again, flashing through his head. He squeezes his eyes shut and instead conjures up the moment when Zacharias had cast his last, strong Resuscitation Spell and had slumped sideways in relief as Draco came back to them. Ginny had grabbed Zach, crying lowly, muttering soft words of gratitude and love that Harry barely noticed, was too busy clinging gently to Draco to hear. And then Draco's backup had arrived, and Pansy, Ron and Theo had taken charge of the situation effortlessly and seamlessly, and everything seemed like it was going to be okay, at least for a little while.

"Ginny is with Zach now. She won't leave," Harry adds with another smile, picturing the fierce redhead's face when she had been told to leave while they examined Zacharias again. Harry had docilely, if apprehensively, left the room when Sparrow had asked to look Draco over, but Ginny had thrown a bedpan at Michael Corner's head at the suggestion. The Bugs rumor mill had been churning all night over the newly discovered love triangle between Zach, Ginny and Corner, and though the nurses have already come up with a nonexistent hidden love child and a quickie secret marriage, Harry can't help but wonder if there's some grain of truth to it. "I'm thinking Ginny might want Zacharias to reconsider his anti-Gryffindor policy, actually."

The fingers in his sweaty hand twitch a bit, and Harry jumps, cursing inwardly. He'd been given strict instructions not to wake Draco up, by both Tabitha _and _Sparrow, and he holds his breath in as Draco shifts a bit on the bed, as much as the partial Body-Bind he's still in will allow. Thankfully, he only lets out a soft snore and closes his mouth for a moment, before opening it again, and Harry feels happy tears prick his eyes as he thinks of Draco in all his drooling, sleepy glory.

"I realize this whole crying at your bedside thing is disgustingly Gryffindor," Harry whispers after a beat. "And I'm about to make it a whole lot worse, I know, but—I don't care. I love you, you know? So…so there. Take that. You've just had a disgustingly Gryffindor day, that's all." Draco's nose twitches and he snores again, and Harry sighs and drops his forehead down onto Draco's fingers.

He wakes up a few hours later to those fingers threading loosely through his hair, and Draco smiling sleepily at him up above, looking amused and affectionate.

"Idiot," he croaks, still smiling, and Harry muffles a small sob/laugh into the bed and shakes his head.


	12. Epilogue

**Characters/Pairings:** Harry/Draco, mentions past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Luna, Ron/Pansy, a slew of supporting characters.

**Warning(s):** disregards epilogue, adult language, fluff!

**Word Count:** ~1200

**Disclaimer:** I make no profit from nor do I claim any ownership of the characters and situations discussed in this story; they belong to JK Rowling and Co. The title is taken from a song by Rilo Kiley.

**Notes: **Aww. *sniffs* I'm gonna miss this fic. Thanks one last time for all of your reviews and comments; you guys were truly fantastic. If anybody has anything they'd like to see more of in sequels, please let me know, I'd be happy to think it over and plug it into the ideas I already have lined up.

Enjoy this tiny wrap-up, and I hope to see you all next time!

**Epilogue**

Harry swings his legs idly from where he's perched on the Station One counter, checking his watch and rolling his eyes.

"We're going to miss our Portkey," he grumbles to Ginny down below, who chuckles airily and shakes her head.

"Oh, come on. Don't be a grump. This is a big deal for him—this will be the longest he's been away from this place in a good long while. He's entitled to a little freak-out, I think."

_A little freak-out _is a bit of an understatement—Draco had been a crazed, neurotic mess (even more so than usual) in the days leading up to their three week, well-deserved trip to Canada. He'd spent it alternately shut up in his office, hexing the newest batch of Trainees, and running around the Abraxas Ward like a madman, settling in his new round of Forget-Me-Not patients. His trips to the Lab have been rather scant, though, for which Harry is grateful, since he currently has a lifetime ban on ever setting foot down there again and can't follow. He realizes that might be annoying once he becomes a Mediwizard, but for now he just thinks it's funny.

Now, it's just a half hour before they're meant to be at the Portkey terminal, and Draco is still in a conference with Michael and Tabitha. Harry can't imagine what could be so important—the amount of serious cases up in Bugs has had a drastic downturn lately. The huge amount of press and attention that had come from Draco solving the mystery of the Hogwarts patients and then curing them had turned into a huge influx of hypochondriacs flooding the wards, all claiming to have some kind of mysterious bug they wanted Draco to cure for them. Draco had responded to _that _about as well as anyone had expected him to, which is to say, not well at all, and so Harry's idea for this trip had been born.

There's only a month left before Harry has to start at the Apollo School for Healing and Mediwizardry, and he intends to spend every minute of it with his boyfriend: wrapped in warm layers, drinking hot chocolate spiked with brandy, making snowmen, and having Canadian sex. Harry doesn't think there is a difference between Canadian sex and English sex, but Draco is sure there is, and Harry is sure he'll like it anyway, so he's just gonna roll with it.

He's thinking about Canadian sex and wondering if it involves maple syrup when Draco appears from around the corner, pink-faced and muttering into his Wrackspurt. Ginny frowns up at him and then holds up her wand, flicking it and summoning the Wrackspurt over, making Draco cry out and glare. Grinning, Harry hops off the counter and grabs his grumpy boyfriend, hugging him close to cut off the no doubt spectacular rant bubbling up inside of him.

"Hi, you. You ready to go?"

"I don't think I can do this, Harry," Draco whines piteously, dropping his head onto Harry's shoulder and thankfully missing his eye roll. "This floor is full of idiots. They will fall apart without me. Tabby and Michael are already fighting about who has more power—I'm considering firing them both and leaving Sparrow in charge."

Harry bites his lip and wisely decides not to bring up the giant hissy fit Draco had thrown when Sparrow had chosen Bugs as his specialty upon completing his Traineeship.

"And I don't _like _not working, you know. It makes me feel like a lazy, rich, pureblood cliché. It makes me feel like _Blaise_."

"It's a vacation, Draco. It's only three weeks. Everyone will be fine without you, I promise." He jerks his head back at Ginny, smiling brightly. "And Nurse Weasley will keep them in line, right Gin?"

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Ginny crows, and then she comes around the counter to lean up and give them each a kiss on the cheek. "Now go on you two, have some fun for once. If you'll excuse me, I'm meeting Zach for lunch at the castle."

Spluttering in outrage and gesturing frantically as if to say _see?_, the only thing that keeps Draco from following her and berating her is Harry's tightened arms around him and the quick, placating snog he draws him into. It shuts him up long enough for Harry to be able to drag him to the lifts and start them down towards the first floor entrance, but not for the whole ride down.

"But what if Daphne needs help with the baby? This is a crucial time in the newborn's life, you know, and I'll need to be on hand for a consult."

"Tabby will handle it, Draco, honestly."

"And what if, ugh, what if Weasel and Pansy decide to spawn? I need to be here to keep that from happening, Harry, Pansy's not been herself lately, she might decide to contribute to the freckled population and _what happens then_?"

"Then you get to spoil another godchild; don't tell me you're not salivating at the thought of it." He ruffles Draco's hair fondly and smiles when he squawks.

"And what if Zach gets fired again? Pomfrey's sacked him twice, you know—"

"Yes, and taken him back twice. He'll be fine. Besides, he's got Ginny now, you know she'll take care of him." The strange and rather violent relationship between Ginny and Zacharias had had the entire floor of Bugs buzzing for weeks, following the bedpan incident and then their loud argument about it once Zacharias was discharged. There had been a lot of stomping, a lot of snarling, and then some rough snogging (unsurprisingly, Ginny was the aggressor, though Zacharias hadn't seemed too violated by it at the end).

Harry is happy about it because it gets Zacharias to start pulling Ginny's pigtails instead of his boyfriend's, and Draco is happy about it because he had gotten to threaten them both against hurting each other.

"But what if—"

"Oh for fuck's _sake_!" And as the lift doors ding open, Harry grabs Draco again and pulls him into another bruising kiss, heedless of the dozen or so St. Mungo's employees standing outside in the lobby, or the Welcome Witch squealing with delight at the sight of them, or Lenore Coalfleet smirking with her arms crossed over her chest. He spreads his hands across Draco's back and thrusts his tongue into Draco's parted lips, groaning in both lust and triumph when Draco finally melts right into his arms. "Th—there. See? Three weeks of just _that_, and more. With _maple syrup_. Are you ready to go now?"

Draco nods slowly, flushing wonderfully, and they step out into the lobby grinning like fools, ignoring the catcalls and wolf-whistles of the employees surrounding them, and leave St. Mungo's hand in hand.

Harry turns briefly and waves at the dilapidated Muggle storefront that hides his future, grateful to be leaving it but even more grateful to be planning on coming back. He keeps waving until Draco yanks his hand down and calls him a sentimental prat, and then he lets Draco spin him into space, smiling in anticipation of meeting him on the other side.


End file.
